


Keep the fire burning (or this being noble thing is not what Gieve signed up for)

by AprilFooled



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:02:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AprilFooled/pseuds/AprilFooled
Summary: For the record; Gieve didn't want to end up babysitting the Crown Prince of Pars, it just sort of happened. So now pretty much everyone wants to kill him.God-fucking-damn it.





	1. Chapter 1

Night was falling and Gieve, at a time any right-minded man should have been tangled in the sheets with a beautiful, willing companion, was forced to make a detour. That is to say, another detour. By now he had hoped to reach the coast and bury himself in the anonymity of one of Pars's larger centers of trade until the two countries sorted out there latest little squabble. But the troubling competence of the Lusitanian army had crushed that dream. They crawled like ant's around the Parisian countryside, there incessant patrolling pushing Gieve up toward the Eastern mountains. 

Honestly, thought Gieve, the outcome of a ongoing conflict between two great nations is one thing but what of the simple pleasures sought by poor Gieve? Well not-so-poor Gieve as of a few days ago; his business at the capital may not have been resolved ideally but he still came away from the city with his pockets a great deal heavier than before and left half (he flattered himself) of the women there trembling and blushing. Still despite the inconvenience of the conflict, wartime was a lucrative occasion for a man of Gieves various talents, and besides Gieve mused to himself, perhaps he would find some distressed beauty along the way in need of rescue from Lusitanian brutes. 

He smiled; it was a pleasant thought and it kept him occupied until the last light really did fall from the sky and Gieve was forced to stop for the night. He dismounted smartly and started to lead his horse deeper into the woods that lined the road, when he stepped on something. And that something yelped. Gieve would like it to be noted that he absolutely did not squeal then jump in the air shuddering like an eel had been stuffed down his shirt; nor did he unsheathe his sword and try to decapitate the squirming ... thing. The ground seemed to shift beneath him and his horse reared, the next thing Gieve knew he was flat on his back and a soft voice originating from somewhere around the vicinity of his left ankle said "Hello" Gieve stilled in slight shock and the voice continued "are you all right? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to trip you up".

Gieve lay flat on his back gasping like a beached whale, trying to summon back some of his customary charm. A long moment passed and then the voice gave a high panicky gasp and Gieve felt the something – the person – start to wriggle there way out from underneath him and by the time Gieve had summoned the breath to speak, cool anxious hands were already running across his torso and skimming over his face. Gieve pushed them away and cleared his throat “My goodness, you are a nervous one aren’t you?”

He heard another gasp, this time one of relief, and the figure drew back. Gieve squinted in the dusky light and saw a slender girl? Boy? Rocking back on their heels, regarding him with wide eyes that glimmered in the dim light. “You're okay, I'm so glad” the figure said, and Gieve felt rather than saw the blinding smile, then the kid started crying. No, not crying, sobbing, wailing.

Gieve sat up and shifted away uncomfortably; the tears of a blushing maiden learning the ways of love for the first time were one thing, but Gieve didn’t think that brushing this kid's hair aside and telling them that he would be gentle would quite cut it in this situation.  
“Um, are you hurt?” not his finest opening line, but pretty good thought Gieve, considering the circumstances. The sobbing lessened slightly and the kid shook their head “n-no I'm fine. It's just I’m so, so glad you're okay.”

Well, the night was just getting weirder and weirder, thought Gieve, despite his experience with stepping on strangers being somewhat limited, he didn’t think that said stepées were generally so concerned about the well being of the stepper. Maybe, theorised Gieve, he was currently having a run in with some kind of monk, a pacifistic monk who wept for his attackers blacken souls? Meh, whoever it was they were obviously too young to be either a pleasing bed-partner or offer re-enumeration for services rendered. There was no point in him hanging around.

“Anyway” continued Gieve, springing up with what would have passed for athleticism in the drunk Olympics “it was,er, enchanting to meet you, but I really must be going now, feats to accomplish” Gieve winked rather pointlessly in the darkness “damsels to rescue. Farewell my unfortunate friend perhaps in the future find safer places to rest your head.”

He turned to leave but was stopped in his tracks by a weak hand grasping at his trouser leg “please sir” and is it his imagination or does the kids voice seem to be getting fainter? “please don’t leave me here alone”  
Gieve started to answer but it seemed hardly necessary as with a soft fhwump the kid collapsed in a heap at Gieves feet. Gieve tilted his head up towards the heavens “Today is just not my day is it?”


	2. Chapter 2

Gieve poked at the fire with a long stick contemplatively, sparks flying up into the cool night air. The slowly cooking flesh of a rabbit was suspended over the low smokeless flames, and the frail looking child was splayed out on Gieve's bedroll. As much as such altruism wasn’t normally his modus operandi, Gieve couldn’t entirely bring himself to regret his actions. After all it was hardly a large deviation in his plans to make camp for two instead of one; Gieve loved a bit of intrigue and this small stranger promised to be very intriguing. To begin with the child was obviously very rich, yet they were alone and bloodied in the woods miles away from and large city or grand estate.

What could some spoilt little boy be doing wearing full armour with not a battle in sight. Gieve supposed he could be fleeing the Lusitanian invaders, but then why was he alone? Judging from the quality of his armour, there was no way his family couldn’t afford to hire protection of some sort. 

The child was also pale. Very pale. He was quite possibly the palest person Gieve had ever seen which, Gieve thought was bizarre considering Pars's climate. The hot sun of Pars was known to darken the skin of even the rich who could afford to lounge all day in cool marble halls. Gieve's reverie was interrupted by the child stirring on the other side of the fire. 

Though he would never admit it Gieve was a little relived as he hadn’t been sure if the boy would wake without proper medical attention, and though Gieve would admit to being many things a doctor was not among them. The kid blinked his eyes open slowly and then started, panicky. He tried to struggle up to a sitting position under the weight of the blanket Gieve had tossed over him, Gieve leapt up and helped the child into a sitting position. Said child blinked dazedly up at him, but despite his vacant look he still took the bottle Gieve proffered and gulped down the contents gratefully. The drained container had to be prised off him by Gieve; the water spilled out the corner of his mouth as he chased the bottle with desperate lips.  
“Thank you” Gieve wasn’t all that surprised that those where the first words out of the kids mouth as everything he said seemed to be either a thanks or an apology. As if on queue the boy gave a frightened little gasp and proceeded to apologise for drinking all his water. Gieve tutted, then smiled roguishly “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I was that hard up for water. Besides what kind of scoundrel would I have to be to withhold water from a creature as pitiable as yourself.”

And suddenly the nights air was alive with the sound of sweet bell-like laughter, Gieve blinked; usually people who found him this funny were a great deal more inebriated than even the hardiest tavern goer. The child peered up at Gieve and smiled “Thank you for your kindness, sir” he bit his lip and then continued softer “you have made me feel much more like myself.”  
Gieve reared back, uncertain how to react to the boys complete lack of guile, but before he could take action the boy continued with no small amount of urgency “I must ask more of you yet though, what do you know of the invading force, how far have they reached, have they yet been repelled? And what of my Lord Fa-” the boy stumbled over his words but even a man with half of Gieves wit would have noticed the slip “I mean what of His Majesty, the King, has he regrouped at Ecbatana?”  
“Let me put it this way” Gieve paused then said slightly maliciously “your Highness, if the King has regrouped at the capital, its to hold a siege”  
The boy's, that is to say, the Crown Prince Arslan's eyes widened “H-How-”  
“Did I discern your identity? Why even without my extra-ordinary powers of deduction, your Highness is not what I would call skilled in the art of deception. Even without your little slip earlier, the very clothes you wear betray you. In fact” mused Gieve “I'm surprised I didn’t figure it out earlier.” 

Gieve hadn’t thought it was possible for someone as pale as Arslan to turn paler still, but it was and he did. Arslan turned and gripped Gieve's arm and Gieve noted with some concern how weak the prince's grip was. “Do you plan to betray me to the Lusitanian's? I would wager that they would reward you handsomely.” though Arslan's voice shook with no small amounts of fear and exhaustion, in that moment Gieve was struck by the extra-ordinary blue of his eyes as he stared determinedly up at him. 

Gieve would not be too ashamed to admit that the prospect of the bounty that was surely on the Prince's head gave him pause, but in the end; “Your Highness, I'm shocked ,truly, that you could think for a moment you would face treachery from one of your own subjects” a shadow fell across Arslan's face, but was cleared somewhat by the musician's next words “you are safe with me your Highness, upon my honour, tonight at least you will be safe.  
”  
Gieve unsheathed his belt knife, reached out, and rescued a chunk of the rabbit from the dying flames of his fire, he inspected it for a moment then, judging it cooked handed it to Arslan, who after shooting Gieve a grateful glance devoured it, mindless of the heat. Gieve watched in fascination as the half starved Prince devoured his meal and again Gieve couldn't help but wonder what had led to the Prince collapsing in these woods, with not even a single retainer to guide him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might gain some semblance of a plot one day, but today is not that day.  
> Also lying is not part of Arslan's skill set.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryun gritted his teeth in frustration. It had been nearly two weeks since Arslan's maiden battle, two long weeks, and Daryun was fast running out of options because Arslan was missing and Daryun, Daryun who had pledged Arslan his loyalty ,dammit, couldn’t find him, had failed Arslan in his greatest hour of need. It was almost more than he could bear. He had spent the first couple of days chasing the Parsian survivors of the battle, grilling them for news of the Princes whereabouts. Daryun would of thought the Prince dead if it were not for the rumours of Kharlan, that bastard of a traitor, being sent by the Lusitanians to hunt Arslan down. 

No, the Lusitanians would not hesitate to proudly shout news of the Crown Princes demise from the rooftops, and if that day came swore Daryun, his knuckles tightening on his horses reins, he would cut down the Lusitanians every man, woman and child to avenge his Princes murder. He thought of the Prince now alone, hunted and frightened and he urged his horse on faster; it was time he paid a visit to an old friend.

XXXXXXX

Despite Daryun's worst fears Arslan, whilst certainly hunted, was not alone and he was feeling less and less afraid every moment that passed. Gieve was different from most of the people Arslan had met; he was flowery, almost grandiose, in his speech but unlike the lords at court who used their words to flatter or to bend others to their will, Gieve seemed to speak only for his own pleasure. There was something sharp and perhaps a little cruel about him, but Arslan felt in his gut that what Gieve lacked in honour, he made up for in trustworthiness – at least towards the people he liked and Arslan thought, or hoped, that Gieve liked him.

A small ugly part of Arslan whispered that he had never even anticipated Kharlan's betrayal, and yet- but Arslan stopped that thought in its tracks; whatever else happened he couldn’t, wouldn’t let the events of the last couple of weeks destroy his faith in the goodness of other people. He looked at Gieve and frowned; he had been so concerned about Gieve learning his identity that he hadn’t given much thought to the other thing that had been sprung upon him by Gieve: the news that Ecbatana had been taken by the Lusitanians. This was more than just disturbing, Arslan hadn’t thought it possible for the capital to be taken so quickly. The capital was lost, which meant his mother was captured or worse and with his fathers whereabouts unknown... Arslan made up his mind. He might be, he thought, weaker, softer than his Lord Father, and maybe that made him unfit to rule, but that didn’t absolve him of his responsibility to his people. His people who were frightened and unprotected, at the mercy of the invading Lusitanians. The people he must defend. The enormity of the task almost overwhelmed him and his vision swam as his pulse fluttered, staccato.

“-our Highness, Your Highness. Hey!” at the sound of Gieve's voice Arslan snapped back to alertness.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was asking if you felt all right; meat isn’t exactly ideal for an empty stomach, especially if you’ve been half starved to death”. 

Arslan blushed and tried to remember the last time he had eaten but nothing came to mind, the last few days (weeks?) had been a terrifying blur.

“I'm fine, thank you” there was an awkward pause “um, Mister-”

“Gieve, my name, Your Highness is Gieve. Master Musician, accomplished Archer and wooer of Women.”

“Oh, well, um, Gieve? You said that the Lusitanians took Ecbatana? Do you know anything more about this, or what their plans are going forwards?” 

Gieve smirked lazily “They have the Capital, the Queen, and I think we would know about it if the King was in any position to Fight back. So my guess is that they are tearing their hair out looking for you, little Prince, well, I imaging they don't so much want you as much as your decapitated corpse, but still, it must be nice to be so wanted. In any case I expect you have some sort of escape root planned, friends overseas perhaps? I'm sure you'll be fine; people love to do favors for princes, even exiled ones.” 

“No.”

“Sorry, what?”

“No, I'm not running” Arslan, weak as he was, squared his shoulder, his voice taking on a strange magnetic quality as if he were delivering a speech meant for fifty thousand men, just for Gieves benefit “I refuse. Whatever else I do I cannot run and save myself, leaving my people in the hands of the Lusitanians. If I abandon them now there will be none left with the power to raise an army large enough to combat them. The nobles will bow quickly under the new regime to preserve there power and the remaining outposts of our armies will either suffer the humiliation of surrender or be completely decimated. I may not yet be worthy of my title, but if I don’t do what’s right now then I wont even be able to call myself a good person, let alone a good ruler.”

Somewhat uncharacteristically, for several seconds after Arslan had spoken Gieve couldn’t think of anything to say. “Forgive me for pointing this out, Your Highness but you are in Lusitanians occupied territory, completely alone, hunted by enemy agents, having spent the last two weeks surviving on grass and willpower. Oh and I think you have blood in your hair. How could you possibly be of help to anyone, all alone as you are?”

“You'll help me, you must” cried Arslan.  
Gieve frowned; he had suspected given his previous encounters with royalty that his aid would be requested but he hadn’t anticipated this level of bluntness from such a seemingly sweet child. Then again Gieve reflected, as a royal Arslan was probably used to commandeering peoples loyalty.

“Help you why? As of now I have two possible employers: you and your enemies. And I'm sure you couldn’t possibly beat their price” Okay, thought Gieve, this was when Arslan would offer Gieve an exorbitant amount of money for his aid; scared desperate people were easily the most generous. He might even accept if he was feeling generous himself despite the recent unpleasantness with the queen of Pars.

“You don't wasn’t money” if Gieve had been a lesser man his jaw would have dropped “you love money and the lifestyle it affords you but its not what you really want.”

Gieve chuckled; even if he wasn’t a betting man he would still place big money on Arslan's next words being something about honour or heroism,or perhaps a buried desired to be loved by his parents, well whatever he said it didn't matter: there was absolutely no way that he would help the Prince unless it was completely on his terms, no way whatsoever.

“You want to be free” said Arslan matter of factly “ above all else. And you would never betray me to the Lusitanians because the guilt would bind you tighter than any chains. I cannot command you and I would not wish to if I could but- please, please lend me your aid. And even if I fall with my kingdom, you will be rewarded, I swear it.”

Well, Gieve would reflect a little later, when Arslan had yet again fallen asleep, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. And this particular royal didn’t seem too bad, despite his disconcerting ability to make Gieve feel twice as noble as he normally did. Gieve lent back on his blankets and shut his eyes; he would have a long journey ahead of him if he was to cart the Crown Prince of Pars all the way to Peshawar Citadel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who has spent all their life around horses i relay can't write horse riding scenes.  
> But who cares... 7 days till CHRISTMAS!


	4. Chapter 4

It was the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees that woke Gieve and for some minutes he lay basking in the warmth of the morning, until something rather less pleasant caught his attention; the distant sound of hooves on the road drawing nearer.

He stretched and propped himself up on his elbows, not overly worried; even if the approaching riders were Lusitanians it seemed unlikely that they would find him and his charge concealed as they were in the woods. Across from the burnt out fire, Arslan jolted awake, his armour clanking as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet, he looked like he was on the brink of flight. Gieve sighed and waved him over to his side, Arslan nodded slightly and came to crouch next to him. 

“Soldiers” said Arslan “I've seen them from the distance before, but I’ve not heard them so close, we have to go. Now. Right now”  
Arslan made as if to move off, but Gieve caught him around the wrist and pulled him back.

“ Calm down Your Highness, running wont solve anything, besides; they might not even be looking for you.” The sound of hooves were closer now and Arslan and Gieve could hear the grumbling chatter of maybe twenty men.

“I mean a large group of men travelling across remote countryside in the wartime could be doing practically anything” Arslan failed to look reassured by that statement, probably because it was complete bullshit “and besides; even if they are looking for Your Highness its hardly likely that they'll stop to search every patch of forest they come across.”

This did make Arslan relax, but the victory was short lived. The clattering of hooves on the road faltered, and so did the voices of the soldiers. When the voices started up again, after an nearly imperceptible pause, there was something suspicious in their carefully cultured lightheartedness. And Gieve thinking back to the previous night when he, tired and beleaguered, rode his horse through the foliage at the edge off the woods, cracking branches, leaving an obvious trail, winced and inwardly cursed. From the direction of the road he heard twigs cracking and splintering under the feet of men who had evidently missed the stealth section of their military training.

Gieve reached for his bow, buckled on his sword and was on his feet silently in a matter of seconds. Arslan , the beginnings of panic showing on his face, made as if to rise as well but Gieve, placing a hand on his head, stopped him. Gieve looked down at him, winked, grinned and then slipped away into the heavy cover that the surrounding woods provided.

Arslan sat in the centre of the small clearing, completely alone. He had not been abandoned, he told himself fiercely, even if the man had decided that the gold was not worth the trouble, there was no way he would abandon his horse and packs, or the instrument he had left resting next to his bedding.

Long minutes passes with only the sound of the soldiers methodical footsteps getting closer and closer, Arslan swallowed, his mouth dry. He dug his hands into the soil at his sides, and prayed for Gieve to return soon. Then he heard a desperate cut off cry, the clang of steel against steel. For a moment Arslan's worried for Gieve, yes the man carried weapons, but he had said he was a musician and Arslan didn’t want anyone else to die because of him. The worry, however, was only momentary as a man burst out from the tree line mere feet away from Arslan. 

Stunned they stared at each other, it must be noted that this particular soldier might have been quicker to action on other days; days when he hadn’t just seen two of his comrades slain by a purple-haired Lothario without due provocation on what had seemed like a routine scouting expedition, and now to his bemusement he had found the Crown Prince of Pars. It wasent often, in that poor soldiers that the army actually found what they were looking for. Killing people, yes but finding things, not so much.

So it is easy to forgive this poor soldier for not evading the arrow which in short order protruded from his neck. The soldier stumbled forward and fell on Arslan, who collapsed under his dead weight and then Arslan's world turned black with blood. He struggled out from under the body, gasping, and Gieve strolled out into the clearing as calm as could be. If Arslan had been a slightly less forgiving person he might have resented how clean and fresh Give looked in comparison. Arslan stumbled to his feet, at the sight of Gieve the tight anxious knot in his chest disappeared, and he smiled.

“Are you really a musician?”

Gieve paused; he was reaching out to tug the arrow from the felled soldiers neck, and looked up at Arslan. 

He pointed at his Oud “would I bother carrying that around with me if I wasn’t supremely talented in the musical arts? I will have you know, Your Highness that I have more talents than your fancy palace has had feasts. And at least I have the sense to move when someone starts bleeding on me.”

Arslan blushed beneath the blood and grime that covered him “My apologies, its only when you walked away I though you were looking for a place to hide. I dident expect you to kill these men for me. I thought they might kill you”

“I didn’t do it for you Your Highness, I was just protecting my investment. You would do well to remember that, so you don’t get too broken hearted when I abandon you” Gieve yanked the arrow free and bopped the prince on the nose with its bloody tip, smilingly. 

Arslan smiled back at him “Regardless, I'm glad you’re not hurt”

Then he looked down at the corpse, thought of the other dead men laying just out of sight and the regiment waiting for them just down the road.

“Um, Gieve? Do you have any idea how we're going to deal with all the other soldiers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Gieve lacks in forward planning skills and impulse control, he makes up for in fabulous hair. Even the people he's killing notice it.


	5. Chapter 5

Narsus stared at the soothing white of the canvas, then he painted a broad stripe of Aubergine, followed by dots of Canary Yellow and ripples of Mauve. A gentle smile spread across his face, his lakeside vista, he thought, was coming along nicely. He looked out somewhat nostalgically out at the view, and thought with some regret of the new paints Elam had brought not a week past, It would be very hard to leave his home of three years behind but Daryun was one of the few people he could honestly count as a friend and that came with certain obligations.

He recalled the events of the early morning, Daryun had come to his door having ridden throughout the night and launched into a difficult to follow narrative. It took some time for Narsus to grasp the point of Daryun's visit and the reason for his frantic sleepless appearance. It took even longer to persuade Daryun that leaving in the dead of night would not improve their position.

Perhaps persuaded was the wrong word; it was by now late morning and Narsus was fairly sure Elam had overestimated the amount of sleeping powder it would take to effectively subdue a man of Daryun's size. Narsus despite acknowledging the necessity of their departure, was primarily concerned with keeping Daryun in one place long enough to plan a course of action. The kitchen door slammed open and Elam rushed out. There were deep shadows under his eyes; the increased number of soldiers in the surrounding area had put him on edge had he had been out every night for the past couple of weeks patrolling the woods. It had been doing nothing for the tranquillity that Narsus preferred to paint in. Elam was out of breath when he reached Narsus, and the look of mounting frustration, mixed with slight fear told Narsus all he needed to know about the situation. Daryun was awake and, more troubling, still on the warpath. 

Daryun was in the stables, tacking up his horse, when he heard the measured footprints of his old friend approaching. He, quite deliberately, didn’t waver from his task. 

“Elam's packing for the journey as we speak. Just wait a couple of hours, tell me everything you know and we can plan a course of action. A course of action that doesn’t involve a poorly executed suicide mission.”

Daryun tightened his horse's girth, his jaw set.

"Or what? Will you drug me into submission again? Will your waiting save the Prince? The more we delay, the greater danger he is in."

Narsus sighed, Daryun was rarely so unreasonable, but when he did set his mind on something, very little could dissuade him. He had hoped to wrangle some more time to prepare, but as like as not, Daryun would simply ride off alone, knowing that Narsus would have no choice but to follow.

“Fine, fine. I'm sorry. We'll leave immediately. Does that satisfy you?”

His horse saddled up, Daryun started to lead his horse out of the stables but paused next to Narsus. His smile was, perhaps, a little to fierce to properly be called friendly.

“Thank you, Narsus. I'm sure the Prince will value you support in the coming struggle; he'll need every drop of strength we can give him when we've rescued him and your council will be invaluable.”

Narsus attempted to smile, aware that the expression was awkward and cracked like a thin layer of cheap paint. “Oh, I'm not so sure of my value as you are I'm sure there are many men who wish to offer their support to his Highness who haven’t been exiled from a court.” He turned to leave, shaking off Daryun's hand “ I'm sure his Highness will have his pick of advisers once we've secured him.”

Narsus was outside, his figure silhouetted by the late morning sun, when Daryun's voice came thundering after him “You wont be Valuable, you say? Are you saying your not going to help me? Narsus our friendship could be as old as the hills, but if you shirk your responsibilities now in the time of His highnesses greatest need- then you really would be the kind of traitorous scum who deserves to exiled” There was a moment of tense angry silence, then Daryun realising even through his haze of anger and worry that he had gone to far, apologised. Not very gracefully but it was enough to prevent Narsus from explaining to Daryun exactly where he could shove those responsibilities which held in such high regard.

“I will help you find the Prince, Daryun. But after that... I have my own life to lead and it doesn’t involve kings or battles or politics. I am a painter” Daryun kept his expression carefully blank “and I want no part in this war. I'm sorry my friend but even a patriot such as yourself must see how tired I am of kings and their courts.”

Daryun shook his head “You'll change your mind when you meet His Highness” his eyes softened “He is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He's, he's-” there were no words for what Daryun wanted to say “ he's very kind.”

“Kind? Kindness isn’t always always ideal in a ruler.”

Daryun smiled the smile that Narsus was starting to dread the sight of “That wont be a problem, for His Highness, I can be as ruthless as it takes.”

Daryun led he horse out into the yard and mounted his steed “You said you were almost ready to leave, so I'll scout ahead, you should be able to catch up to me with ease if you make haste.”

As Narsus watched the dust kicked up by his frankly worryingly unstable friend, he made up his mind; whatever Elam said and however poor Daryun and Narsus's combined cooking skills were, there was no way Narsus would allow Elam to accompany him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt it would be out of character if a whole chapter went by without Daryun squeeing about Arslan.  
> Also if you get the feeling Daryuns not coping very well with Arslan's disappearance, its because hes not.


	6. Chapter 6

Arslan shifted the dead soldier’s bow uncomfortably on his back, the weapon had belonged to a man laughably larger than Arslan, and took a deep breath. He was stood just downhill from the main patrol, concealed in the shrubbery along the road, he stayed there crouched tensely, until he heard the piercing cry of a peregrine falcon. Or rather, what Gieve thought a peregrine falcon sounded like. Despite their short acquaintance, if there was one thing Arslan had learnt, read had been told repeatedly, about his new companion was that his talents were almost innumerable. In this moment, however, the young Prince Arslan was able to correctly summarise that whatever gifts Gieve did posses, mimicking bird-calls was not among them.

The utter novelty of the sound distracted the soldiers to such an extent that when Arslan stepped out on to the road none of them noticed him. Arslan was shuffling awkwardly in the middle of the road, wondering if he should call out to attract their attention, when he was spotted. In all fairness if Arslan had looked less blood-soaked, less gaunt from days of hunger and exhaustion and hadn’t been sporting the weapon of one of their comrades, Arslan might have been able to parley with them for as long as was needed, but it was not to be. There was a pregnant pause, before Arslan could even begin to speak a volley of arrows sailed through the air towards him and he was forced to dive to the side. From the ground Arslan drew his sword and parried the next wave of arrows, all but the last which plunged into his left arm. Despite his rather desperate situation Arslan struggled to his feet and dove back into the forest. 

Needless to say none of this had been in the plan. Arslan didn’t want to fight but he was also aware he didn't really have much of a choice as neither of them wanted to risk being spotted whilst fleeing. Fighting had never really scared him even after the horror of his first battle, rather he feared being hunted down like an animal, never being safe, never able to rest. So when Gieve had suggested Arslan distract the soldiers giving Gieve the advantage of surprise, Arslan, like the bloody fool he was, quickly agree for want of a better idea.

Which was why he was running, again. And worse than that he had ruined his part in Gieves plan. The forest where the solidiers had been waiting was no less dense but had narrowed, so it took only a matter of minutes for Arslan to stumble out of the tree line. The bright early morning light blinded him after the gloom of the forest and Arslan whirled around to face the trees, the rustling of branches heralding the imminent arrival of his enemy. His left arm hung loose, useless and excruciating in equal measure. Arslan drew his sword and inhaled deeply as the first soldier crashed out of the forest.

Gieve, meanwhile, was having a positively pleasant time, while Arslan's attempts at distraction were less peaceful than he had hoped, it had attracted the attention of the soldiers perfectly. Geive's first arrow was sent straight into the flanks of the horse in the centre of the group. The horse reared unseating it's rider and throwing the others into disarray. The two men felled in the next seconds increased the air of panic. A few of the better trained men attempted to rein in their fellows but the men, blinded by fear, attempted to flee, only to be shot down by Gieve from his perch in the treetops. There were five men remaining, all canny enough to dismount and bunch together, shields raised. Now Gieve climbed down to the ground and drew his sword, before stepping out into the road with a casual air calculated to unnerve. The four soldiers all rushed him at once, Gieve took a moment to marvel at the way his life was starting to become something he enjoyed between encounters with bloodthirsty armed men, before he dived into battle.

It was only when Gieve had started rifling through the pockets of the dead men, satisfied with his utter victory, that he realised with a slow pool of dread in his stomach that he had forgotten something, or rather someone, very important. He stood up, looked around, saw three horses sans dead riders and cursed vehemently before taking off into the forest, the dead men's gold all but forgotten. The dark of the trees didn’t slow him; a clear trail was left by the blundering soldiers. He shaded his eyes against the sun but even his restricted view allowed him to see the blood. It was less of a pool than a lake and Arslan was slumped in the middle of it, over the body of a solider. Arslan's eyes flickered up to Gieve, alarm melting into relief as he struggled to his feet, flashing Gieve a small smile that cracked the blood drying on his face. Gieve rushed forward to help him up his hand closing over Arslan upper arm and Arslan yelped in pain. 

“Are you hurt? What happened?” Gieve shifted his grip, anxious.

“My left arm, I was hit by an arrow back at the road” Arslan tried to glance down at the wound but was impeded by Gieve who was already tearing the fabric of his sleeve to get a closer look.

The wound was deep and bleeding slowly, Gieve looked for something to stem the bleeding and ended up mutilating the jerkin of a soldier Arslan had managed to kill relatively cleanly near the tree-line. He couldn’t help but chide Arslan gently as he bound his wound, his worry bleeding through his tone more than he would have liked “You shouldn’t have pulled the Arrow out; you might have bled to death before I found you.”

Arslan smiled wanly “I didn’t have a choice. The first two men were easy: they were blinded by the sun and I caught them by surprise... but the third man was slower- smarter and gave himself enough time to adjust to the light, He disarmed me and I fell so...” Gieve followed Arslan's gaze to the man at their feet. The corpse was splayed out on the ground and in a break from the conventional fighting style that had been drilled into Arslan since his earliest days at the palace, an arrow had been plunged into his groin and his throat had been slit. Gieve resisted the urge to cover his crotch. 

He looked at Arslan who resembled a particularly unskilled butcher more than anything else, then down at his near spotless attire and had to laugh “Come on” he said, supporting Arslan's weight as he walked back the way he came “lets do something about those bodies. ”

In the end they didn’t move any of the corpses despite Arslan wanting to at least cover them in lieu of a proper burial. However Gieve did relieve the still warm bodies of their valuables, ostentatiously in order to fake a bandit attack. Arslan looked about as skeptical as it is possible to look, but didn't try to stop him. Then they moved on, Arslan with his injured arm rode in front of Gieve.

It was the Afternoon by the time Gieve seriously started thinking about how he could actually keep Arslan safe. They had stopped at a river and Arslan who had submerged all but his bandaged arm in its shallows was scrubbing the filth from his skin and hair. Gieve hated to admit it, but their recent victory was more due to luck than his skill and another similar encounter could ruin any hope of his profiting from this little adventure. The only way to ensure their safety was to avoid conflict entirely, something that Gieve as a rule lacked the temperament for and especially in the current climate doubted was even possible. Gieve sighed it would be so much simpler if Arslan seemed less inclined to selflessness, it's much easier to protect a selfish bastard than a good man however he couldn't quite bring himself to wish Arslan to be any different.

He picked up his Oud and started picking out a tune. The notes floated out over to the river where Arslan was slowly making himself look human again, the paleness of his skin still, in Gieve's opinion, baffling was matched by the white of his hair, and Gieve let himself relax, he would cross that bridge when he came to it and besides, he thought, glancing over at his bags, which were looking significantly heavier with gold that they had that morning, life wasn’t looking so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having real trouble not using exclamations like Jesus or oh god, I've never realized how dependent i was on using all these Christian expressions.  
> Anyway life probably will be good, or you know, less bloody,for Gieve and Arslan but we won't see that for a while, next time: Narsus hates his life and regrets his choices.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been over three weeks since the battle and Arslan's disappearance. Three long weeks without sight of sound of the young prince and rumour had it Kharlan was getting nervous. The prince had to be found dead or alive, probably dead, whispered the troops, and with no leads and only the vaguest suspicions of where Arslan would run, Kharlan was facing the threat of a public humiliation that would leave a permanent stain on his military record. Not, Narsus mused, that anything could bring more dishonour on a man than betraying his own country. 

In the past week he had learnt everything that the Lusitanians knew, which wasn’t a lot despite the fact that that almost two thousand men had been sent to bolster Kharlans forces. It wasn’t that either the Lusitanians or Kharlan's Parsian Army were lacking training or discipline; their collaboration was doomed from the start by the sort of natural distrust that Narsus had so easily exploited many times before.

It had got to the point where Narsus had to use his informants to spread an accurate accurate description of the Prince, so as to ensure that the Lusitanians weren’t looking for a 6 foot behemoth who crushed children for sport. Narsus frowned; really there was only so much he could do, if Arslan was alive sooner or later he would reach out to someone, if not- Narsus thought of Daryun and suppressed a shudder. The strange furious energy that Daryun has displayed previously had dissolved into a sombre, contemplative mood that Narsus found even more disturbing.

After the first few days of travelling with his friend, Narsus had settled into a camp close to Kharlans own centre of operations, sending Daryun to ride out to wherever Narsus thought he would meet with least trouble. Although it seemed unlikely that Arslan would have found refuge with any of his nearby noble allies without the fact somehow being exposed, visiting all the Parsian occupied estates in riding distance kept Daryun busy, and was plausible enough that it appeased Daryuns need for action whilst Narsus stayed and turned the situation over and over in his mind trying to find, as he had done so often in the past, that one perfect, elegant solution to his problem.

No such solution appeared. 

His stomach growled slightly; he had sent Elam away to seek employment with his friend Shaghad, and although he had reassured Elam that he was a perfectly competent cook, the dishes he prepared always seamed to congeal resentfully on his plate. Eventually he gave up on his meal and turned in for the night, the last night he would have to himself before Daryun returned desperate for an answer he couldn’t give. Narsus lay down and allowed his eyes to drift closed.

It the dark of the forest Narsus slept, entirely oblivious to the hooded figure creeping towards his camp. Lead by the figure was a mounted horse , its rider bound to the saddle. The figure sighted the glowing embers of Narsus dying camp-fire and started forwards with the unshaken confidence of someone who had always found themselves on the winning team. They took another step forward and suddenly the ground was swept out from under their feet. Or, more accurately, their feet were swept up from underneath them.

Narsus awoke to a piercing shriek and the whinnying of a horse. He rolled to his feet, snatching up his sword as he did so and, taking a moment to light a torch, he headed towards the source of the sound. He heard them before he saw them.

“-nd you said I was a weakling letting myself be captured by you, hah! At least I'm not so much of a fool that I end up imprisoning myself!” That voice sounded very familiar.

“Imprisoning myself? You mean a bit like the coward who practically begged to be taken prisoner rather than be left alone to cry for his mother – you even told me how you wanted to be tied up – pervert!” A female voice this time.

“Perv-! How dare you! I wouldn’t have had to tell you how to tie me up if you weren’t so incompetent.”

The girl let out a screech of frustration and Narsus hearing the sound of a sword being unsheathed, quickened his pace, then stopped abruptly as his torchlight revealed the owners of the two voices. Narsus had know from the moment he had heard his voice that Elam was there but for all his intellect, could not comprehend his servants presence. Even more perplexing was the rather... vibrant young woman who, regardless of Narsus's presence, was trying to hack away the rope that suspended her with her sword.

“Lord Narsus!” Elam exclaimed, looking surprisingly chirpy for somebody tied to a horse “You found us, Thank goodness.”

“Yes, it's extremely fortunate, especially since your meant to be in Gilan right now, safe.” Elam blushed.

“I have good reason, I promise, I-”

“I'll have you know that he's here as a prisoner of Alfreed of the fierce Zot clan, and I demand that you release me and face me in honorable combat!” Narsus stared at her as she swayed gently back and forth with the breeze.

“Elam why did you bring this” Narsus struggled for a descriptor for a moment “Alfreed to me?”

“He brought me?! I told you he's my prisoner! That little, little … Gutter-crawler!”

“Hah! So says Horse-face!”

“Snot-nose!”

“Vulture-feed!”

Narsus took a deep breath, counted back from ten and waited for the insults to die down. And waited, and waited, and waited. If it had been at a more reasonable hour Narsus would have been amused to see Elam engaged in such a squabble with a young women near his age. As it was though... Narsus kicked the lynch-pin of the trap out from where it was concealed in the ground, sending Alfreed crashing to the floor then he picked up her sword and used it to cut Elam from the horse. Elam slid to the ground next to Alfreed. 

Narsus drove Alfreed's sword into the soil at his feet and pointed to Elam severely “Explain everything” he glanced at the still dazed Alfreed “ no interruptions.”

Elam struggled to his knees “I was headed to Gilan when I ran into the Zot Clan. We were going to part ways peacefully as I didn’t really have anything of worth on me but then she turned up and implied that my master was either impoverished or neglectful. I felt compelled to defend your honour. We, er, conversed on the subject for some minutes until she let slip something, some information, that I felt might aid you in your investigation. So I persuaded her that I was on a mission to collect a valuable arifact and-”

“Wait” Alfreed said “you mean there was never any treasure? I knew you were a coward but I at least took your surrender in good faith.” she frowned up at Narsus “Wait, I know some vital information?”

Narsus tried to dampen the hope kindling in his chest, but couldn’t keep the beginnings of a smile off his face “She knows something about the Prince.”

Alfreed opened her mouth to deny any or all knowledge of Prince related activities, but Elam interrupting her said “Yes, or at least I think so” he looked at Alfreed “ tell Lord Narsus what you told me about the Musician and his apprentice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Elam and Alfreed would start picking on each other and have the same relationship as they do in canon if they met without Narsus between them but i just love their dynamic too much to change it into something less vitriolic.


	8. Chapter 8

Daryun dreamt of his uncle. 

They were sitting on the steps of a large wooden veranda overlooking acres and acres of farmland. The setting sun was unnaturally large and yellow. Daryun knew that soon he would have to harvest the flowers of the money tree to pay for his new boots but the sun was very hot so he wrapped himself in a blanket and huddled closer to the fire.

"The crops are thriving Daryun" Daryun smiled lazily at his Uncles praise "You make a better farmer than a soldier. Its a good thing you didn’t follow my orders, didn’t heed my final request- if you had you might never have learn't how to grow cheese" 

Despite the heat Daryun felt a chill.

"But don't worry" his Uncles mouth started to grow wider and wider "I found him for you." 

Daryun watched, completely horrified but unable to scream as his uncle began to convulse like a mother bird bringing up food for its young. Light, silvery hair was visible first, then a face, a pale loose limbed body. Inch by treacherous inch, Daryun saw Arslan emerge from his Uncles gaping mouth.

The terrible paralysis broken Daryun rushed forwards and caught Arslan before he fell to the floor. Arslan looked up at him, his beautiful face pale and waxy and smiled, the skin peeling away from where his smile split his face.

"Listen to your Uncle Daryun I'll be fine- we'll all be fine. After all the dead care for each other... we have to Daryun... because you of all people know the living care nothing for the debts they owe to the dead."

Daryun woke gasping from his dream and lay trembling on the ground. He waited until the tremors subsided, then packed his bags and swung up onto his horse. As his horse cantered back towards Narsuses hideout, Daryun tried very hard not to think.

XXXXXXX

Five days earlier

Gieve smiled down at Arslans sleeping face. Despite the long hours spent travelling under the hot Parsian sun, Arslan's skin remained unburned, and it amazed Gieve, as it often did when he mused on the subject that two people such as Arslan and Queen Tahamine could look so alike and yet be so different. Arslan stirred and looked blearily up at Gieve who looked back completely unashamed at having been caught staring. 

“So the sleeping beauty awakes,tell me, did you have good dreams?”

Arslan replied “Yes, but I doubt what I consider a good dream would hold your interest for long, Gieve. The rest did me good though, I believe I will be able to travel much further today.”

Gieve looked sceptical; while Arslan's wound showed no sign of infection, Arslan was still weakened- by his desperate flight from the battlefield, the weeks of relentless fear driven travel that followed and now the blood loss which had wreaked even more damage on his body. It made Gieve anxious; they had travelled in two days the distance that should have taken them only a day to traverse. 

At least one of their problems had been solved though, back at the river Arslan had abandoned his armour, letting it be swept downstream and though the clothes that replaced his armour were not the best fit, as they belonged to Gieve, they were far less incriminating then a goldplated breastplate.

Arslan struggled to his feet, it exasperated Gieve how Arslan acted like he owed it to Gieve to be as strong as possible, like they were comrades- friends even, as opposed to two people bound by mutual convenience. Besides, telling Arslan that he needed to be cared for would be tantamount to saying that he wanted to care for Arslan. Not that, Gieve thought, that was the case, but he didn’t want Arslan to misunderstand his intentions, that was all. Together they set about disassembling their small camp, leaving no trace of their presence to be found, then they set off again.

Gieve had thought that the biggest problem he would have was finding Peshawar, but when, on their third day of travel they came to the feet of the mountains that surrounded the Citadel, he realised he had been naïve. The foothills crawled with soldiers, the patrols too numerous to evade. Arslan slumped back against Gieve in the saddle, desolation etched across his face. The bone shattering weariness he felt threatened to consume him but Arslan shook himself out if it, if nothing else, he reminded himself severely, giving up would mean that Gieve would go unrewarded for the service that he had done him.

Arslan craned his neck to look at Gieve. “Do you think we could outrun the soldiers? A single horse might have the advantage in the mountains.” 

Gieve shook his head “One horse tires quicker than many that can peruse us in shifts, I wouldn’t risk it, even if I was by myself, besides I'm sure there are other better ways to evade those vultures.”

Gieves tone was characteristically light but Arslan shuddered thinking of circling carrion birds waiting to tear flesh from bone. 

“Still... if perchance Peshawar proves as much trouble as it looks to be, I don’t suppose you have any other ideas about where we could head to.”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure? There must be some fine patriot out there willing to shelter a noble young prince such as yourself, someone you can trust.”

“They're all dead” Gieve had the sense to stay quiet as Arslan spoke his trembling voice clear “My Lord Father, Vahriz “Arslan choked on his words” -Daryun. Almost everyone I know and trust was on that battlefield with me, but I was the only one who walked off... Its not fair, they were all so strong and- and- I only know of one man that I know who I can trust and he is stationed at Peshewar”

“Two” Gieves mouth felt dry “from now you can make that two men”

Arslan looked down blushing, eyes still wet from unshed tears while Gieve glanced awkwardly away, suddenly very unsure.

In the end they agreed to head south. They didn’t make it more than a couple of miles. Arslan who, despite his protestations was still very weak, the stress of the day draining him even more, had fallen into a dreamy stupor. Gieve too was silent, at first because he didn’t want to be insensitive, then because he didn’t know what to say. Saying things like “I'm a foreign prince”, “yes, I love you too” or even “I’m someone you can trust” were all right when you didn’t really mean them, but actually being in a position of trust, the same as actually being a foreign dignitary didn’t just disappear overnight like a beautiful dream.

“Halt! Or we'll shoot you where you stand!” A single rider appeared from behind the rock's that littered the landscape

This was enough to jolt Arslan awake, he startled and was almost unseated from their horse. Gieve tightened his arm around him and called back “I can't argue with that. Who are you?”

Men emerged out from behind the boulders that littered the landscape. Fortunately they weren’t soldiers of any army Gieve recognised, however they were still very angry looking, heavily armed men- men and women. He winked at a red-headed women who looked distinctly unimpressed. A heavyset man who looked to be their leader said “Who we are dosent matter, just know we shall take everything you have of worth”

Gieve smiled “How brave of you and your” he did a quick tally “twenty-four men, to challenge a lone rider, with nothing but his musical talents and poor skill with the bow to recommend him”

The man didn’t look abashed per say but his facial hair appeared to bristle less violently “What about the boy?”  
“The boy? Oh you mean my apprentice” Gieve looked at Arslan who was watching the scene unfold quietly, Arslan was one of the few people who Gieve had met who could look anaemic, exhausted and traumatised without looking like something that he had scraped of the bottom of his boots. In short, Arslan might be described as looking tragic, but in such a way that might work to their advantage. “My apprentice who has fallen ill, with fever, please, I must get him to a place where he can rest.”

“I'm sorry” the man didn’t look that sorry thought Gieve mulishly “I didn't realise, we don't make a habit of robbing the weak and sickly. We shall only take half of what we are owed today " the bandits gave a roar of approval at this astonishing generosity and Gieve sighed, it seemed he had no other choice than to just let himself be robbed if he wanted Arslan safe. 

“Wait” Arslan spoke, his voice louder than Gieve had ever heard it before "the only thing of value my Master owns are his tools of the trade. We may not be rich in coin but my Master has been praised as one of the finest voices in all of Pars, please" and Gieve couldn’t see Arslan's face, but he could see the reactions of the bandits, the redhead who had shunned him earlier especially looked like she had been handed a basketful of kittens “please let my Master perform for you.”

XXXXXXX

“Well” asked Narsus “what happened next?”

Alfreed shrugged mouth full of the mouthwatering stew Elam had prepared.

“We had quite a good night, it had been a while since we'd had some good music in our camp. The next day I rode of on my own to scout, and found your servant, who by the way cant properly cook even a simple stew-” she lunged forward to try and wrestle the stew ladle from Elam.

Narsus lent back and tried to marshal his thoughts, so the Crown Prince was alive, which was more than he had thought a couple of hours ago, and apparently in the clutches of the dangerous and volatile Zot Clan. Perhaps he would only tell Daryun the first part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like any part of this chapter apart from the wacky dream sequence. I've always wanted a wacky dream sequence of my own.


	9. Chapter 9

Gieve knew lots of songs, many of them the old epics which often told of merry bands of men who travelled across the land feasting, drinking and fighting. He had never thought that he would ever join such a group, even temporarily and yet there he was, singing the same tired set of drinking songs. Repeatedly.

He, as was by now his habit, scanned the crowd for Arslan and found him nestled amongst the crowd, clapping along with the music and in better health than Gieve had ever seen him in. The people around Arslan mostly ignored him, lost in the revelry and their own conversations, something that Gieve was thankful for; he was not especially confident in Arslan's ability to keep up with all the lies he told about them. Arslan did look a little lonely though.

Gieve broke from the music, ready to offer an excuse but atmosphere was jovial and the tune popular so the crowd took over, singing the song with gusto. People acknowledged him as he walked by with easy smiles and nods. He wasn’t exactly respected as the Zot Clan could never bring themselves to respect someone who to all appearances had no martial skill, but he was well liked.

Arslan stood up to greet him, his head lowered, respectful. “Master.” 

Gieve was an exquisite liar because he could pretend even to himself that the things he said were true and at that moment he let himself believe his lies almost entirely. It was pleasant to think that he had been so clever as to find someone as agreeable as Arslan to study under him. It was decidedly less pleasant to think that he was penniless but then, thought Gieve perhaps he was only lacking funds because he had brought Arslan at a slave market. An impulse buy. Arslan being a recent acquisition even accounted for his lack of musical skill. 

“Come, Boy, sit with me for a while” They made there was to the outskirts of the camp and sat, backs to the camp, looking out at the stars.

They sat and talked, nothing important, just conversation for its own sake and somehow even though Gieve had planned to talk to Arslan about his next move, suddenly he didn’t want Arslan to make any plans that didn’t involve sitting in the moonlight with Gieve, the warmth of the fire on their backs. 

Gieve cleared his throat “Tell me” he lowered his voice “Your Highness, have you ever seen the sea?”

Arslans eyes brightened, that sounded like Gieve setting up one of his stories “No, I’ve never even been outside the Capital, why?”

“We're heading South at the moment. Tomorrow the Zot will start Eastward and we... we can just keep going south.”

Arslans lost his eager look of excitement “South? What purpose would that serve?”

“I've heard that in some ports along the coast the nationalities of the women vary so much that even a man of my indubitable talents would take months to pay each of them the compliment they deserve.”

Arslan stared at Gieve stonily.

“Oh fine! I think you should give up. Stop being a Prince and just be Arslan. Come with me, we can just... go. South, then over the sea, new lands and new people. Rich wines, even richer Widows. People who don’t count amongst their lives ambitions the desire to bathe in our blood.”

Arslan didn’t say anything for long moments and Gieve was beginning to wonder if he had overstepped when Arslan spoke “It sounds wonderful but I can't. I won't. I wasn’t sure before that I could go back, that I could be a good King. I had began to think that if I returned I would be more trouble than I'm worth, that I would drag on a war that would just cost innocent lives. But I've been thinking about what being King would mean, and about the idea of being free. I know that going with you would free me from everything in my old life and I want that, I do, to be free to see the world and walk the streets as one of the crowd. Then I thought, if I, who has had everything given to me in my life, wants freedom so badly, what must it be like for the slaves whose shackles are far, far less metaphorical. What must it be like for the impoverished? The illiterate? The starving? Just a few days ago I thought I had nothing to give my country but now I see. I can give up my freedom and work to set thousands of others free.”

Those weren't the words he wanted to hear but he couldn't argue with them so Gieve grinned “I don’t know about a good king, but you'll definitely be an interesting one. Perhaps I’ll stay with you a little while longer even after we reach Peshewar.”

“You're still going to help me? But I thought you said-”

“I don’t want to head south, I want to head south with you. And if I can't do that, I'll do the next best thing.”

“Thank you Gieve” 

Its my pleasure-” Gieve out of the corner of his eye saw a shadow of a man flicker in the campfire “Boy, but if you forget again the lessons I have spent such pains teaching you, then I will have no choice but to sell you back to your previous master, a man so cruel and vicious that he used to beat you for sport.” 

Arslan looked confused for an instant but hastened to play along nevertheless. Gieve sighed in relief but still felt unease swirl around his heart. He had never before felt the desire to be anywhere near a garrison of sweaty ugly soldiers but he was beginning to feel that the sooner Arslan was surrounded by a load of mindless fighting patriots the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gieve has like a detailed character sheet for each of their new identities. Arslan just knows he's called Boy and to call Gieve Master. 
> 
> Oh, and if you think Arslan's speech in this chapter is inspired by the one at the end of the film version of the Princess diaries... you'd be right.


	10. Chapter Ten

Alfreed basked in the midday sun, content. For someone who was technically a prisoner she wasn’t watched as closely as she could have been. She made no move to escape, even though it sorely hurt her pride that she wasn’t guarded as any dangerous prisoner should be, as she felt fairly happy with her situation. Any time spent away from her fathers incessant fussing about her imminent succession was, in her opinion, time well spent, the food was exquisite and-. A shadow fell over her and Alfreed smiled, there was one other reason she was so happy to stay. 

Narsus was, she thought, utterly despicable. Any man might let a woman hang helpless in a trap of his own creation, if it was in defence of his kin and kith, but only a truly despicable man would turn around and be so charming after the fact. And Narsus had been very, very charming. He knelt down besides Alfreed and unfolded a large map. Alfreed examined it, intently. The shapes were at first incomprehensible to her but then she recognised the shape of the mountains, a few small settlements that her tribe traded with. 

“The information you have provided us with so far has been very helpful” said Narsus, shifting slightly to block her view of Daryun, who was simmering with impatience. 

Though Daryuns first meeting with Alfreed had ended only just short of bloodshed, Narsus had managed to gain Alfreeds trust due to him being kinder than a man who had threatened to destroy her family if Arslan(or at least the boy who might be Arslan) even looked upset. Alfreed smiled and snuggled up to him.

Narsus gulped, perhaps he had been a little too kind. “Still it would be a great help if you could tell us where we could find your tribe now. Do you have a meeting point planned?”

Alfreed shook her head “We never plan to be somewhere ahead of time. Plans change; possibilities” her eyes twinkled “arise. But don’t fret; I'll find your Prince for you.”

Daryun watched from a distance as Narsus attempted to disentangle himself from Alfreed. He knew that only a few weeks ago he would have watched the scene with something approaching glee. He didn’t feel gleeful though, he didn’t feel anything. Arslan was alive. The knowledge had burned through him leaving him empty but for his objective. The midday sun beat down on him, unrelenting. 

XXXXXXX

Her days of travel had been long and the injustice she was witness to everyday grated on her nerves but Farangis looked down at the muddied pile of metal at her feet and smiled. It was the smile of someone who had already won. She crouched down and began scouring away the mud and grime that concealed the gold beneath. She was crowned by the midday sun, utterly victorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't guess this chapter is more a prelude to action than anything else.
> 
> And Farangis is here which is good because she is the only person in this fic who isn't crying from felling overload, a bit confused about whats going on or both.


	11. Chapter 11

It would be difficult for anyone not to feel sorry for the average Lusitanian footsoldier.

It was true for them, as it was true for any low-born soldier in any Army, that rank of any distinction was near unobtainable but for acts of suicidal valour or years and years of impeccable service. To add to the standard misery that came with their position, Lusitanian soldiers were also expected to display appropriate religious fervour, which meant that if they ever hoped to become more that a common footsoldier both alcohol and women were both off limits. 

Just over two-hundred men were sent to guard the roads which lead to Peshewar. It took them just under a week to realise that they were the last stop on a very long food supply route. It took one day after that for every man there to come to the unanimous agreement that they deserved more and better food, to convince themselves that it was practically their god given right to take whatever and however much they wanted from the heathens who populated Pars and, perhaps most importantly, to realise that the highest authority they were answerable to at that time was a commander who only prayers were to the bottom of a flagon of ale.

They organised raiding parties which descended on surrounding villages and each night from then on they eat and drank all that the most easterly provinces of Pars could provide. And for a while they felt themselves to be the conquerors that they had once been promised they would become. 

Their Colonel was happy for them, in the distant hazy way he felt emotion through the anaesthetic of his daily libations. Life began to settle down for them, as life does. They still felt a little affronted; to be 'looking for the Prince of Pars' was already synonymous with a pointless, thankless task. A wild goose chase in the words of the aforementioned Colonel. Unlike his subordinates who were young, fierce and tragically hopeful, he was hardened to the reality that for most people life in the Army was just a series of shitty boring jobs with the ever present risk of being promoted to the rank of Martyr for your Country.

The Colonel never let a drop of alcohol pass his lips before he made that rank but as he often said, once he started celebrating he just couldn’t stop.

There was something casting a shadow over The Colonel's cup, preventing the light from giving his wine that tantalising depth of colour that was almost - almost better than the taste itself. He glared up at the source of his problem, a soldier. One of his, he noted, which was good he supposed as experience had taught him that your own men are a lot less likely to try and murder you. 

“ Well? What issit?”

“Report, Colonel Bakhtiari “ the Youth looked unusually sweaty and anxious but Bakhtiari paid it no mind; to him everyone under five-and-twenty tended to look that way.

He waved his hand magnanimously “Proceed.”

“There have been some more sightings, sir, of the Prince”

“Oh? Good for you.?”

“It really is the Prince, sir. He was sighted by the two of the North patrols but they lost him and his companion just North-West of the camp.”

Colonel Bakhtiari wasn’t at all invested in the capture of Prince Arslan, however he was very interested in anything that could win him a ticket to a more comfortable post. 

He sat up straight in his chair. “Send out anyone not dead on their feet out with the last patrol to see him. Tell them to try to keep their presence in the field quiet and send someone to circle round to the West to block any escape routes” Bakhtiari looked down at his empty cup “and get me another drink.”

XXXXXXX

Gieve had always known it was unfair how lucky he was. The Gods, having blessed him with both looks and skill, should have at least made him unlucky as a counterbalance. But there he was, when all hope should be lost, watching most of the Lusitanian camp ride off to the West. 

It was a tactical move Gieve couldn’t fathom but one he was thankful for. He had given Arslan both the horse and all( well most of) his money. Gieve had a certain amount of tenuous faith in Arslan's abilities, but somewhere in his childhood someone had spent far too much time instilling a sense of valour into him. Gieve had firmly instructed Arslan, when faced by a Lusitanian, to throw as much coin as possible in his face and run. 

They had arranged to meet to the East hidden in the first craggy peaks of the mountains but there was one other issue Gieve had to deal with first. The ease and spontaneity that Gieve brought to many disciplines he had mastered did not translate into gathering food. Generally he was too impatient to be a good hunter, to reckless to gather fruit and had just enough knowledge about both to recognise his inadequacies.

Which was why he was taking a little trip into the Lusitanian camp; if he was to help topple the Lusitanian empire a good starting point was to deprive them of their supplies. He slunk low through the shadows of late dusk till he found the supply tent. It was made of a rough fleshy-toned canvas and as Gieve sliced his way into the back of the tent he fancied it was like cutting open the belly of a Giant to get to find the cavern of gold it kept in its belly. 

Gieve worked quickly and packed enough food for a few days travel, then remembering how Arslan's face had once lit up at the mention of the soft sweet fruit filled up the remaining space in his already bulging bag with ripe blushing apricots. He looked around at the shadow of the store guards at the tents entrance. He had time. Gieve reached up to one of the oil lamps hung on one of the tent poles and checked it. It was full to the brim of oil, its flame holding steady even as Gieve started to move the lamp. 

Carefully, he unhooked it and started to pour the oil over the barrels and sacks that held the Army's stores. A hand came out form seemingly nowhere and grabbed the lamp at the same time as an elegant foot swept Gieve's feet out from under him. He landed on his back with a thump muffled by a bag of unidentified but unpleasantly squelchy fruits. 

A goddess stood, towering over him. Her knife at his throat almost paled in comparison to her beauty and both were overshadowed by her aura of complete confidence. Gieve smiled at her. She set the lamp on the ground and with her newly freed had pulled Gieve close, close enough that he could have kissed her in an instant. 

“Stranger” the woman spoke, in the precise tones of one who had been educated well but not born to nobility “What is your purpose here, sabotage?” her eyes flickered to the his bag “a thief covering his tracks? Answer me.”

“Both I suppose. I am in need of supplies and my hatred for our invaders burns as brightly as my growing admiration for you, noble lady.” Gieve widened his smile, hoping he looked charming and not deranged or worse frightened.

The dim light flickered and the woman sheathed her knife, raising a small white whistle to her mouth. For a moment he felt pure panic but no sound came from the instrument. Which was made even odder by the woman cocking her head slightly, listening for a sound only she could hear. “The dijinn tell me you speak the truth but not the whole truth” she scoffed at the look of unease that came over Gieves face “Don't worry, I will not press you for answers; I doubt we will meet again after tonight and I only need know that we share the same enemy to ask you to help me with this. I can assure you that this will be far more... effective” She tossed him a small packet. It was made of thick vellum and contained a greyish powder. Gieve went to touch it but his hand was slapped away. 

“Careful with that, don’t get any on you”

“Concerned for me already? Your humble servant is flattered.”

“My concern is not for you; that powder cost more than care to remember” she produced a second packet and began to sprinkle it liberally into every food container she came to, Geive began to copy her. 

When they next drew close to one another Gieve whispered “why bother buying whatever this cunning poison this happens to be when you could just do what I was about to do before you so delicately prevented me.”

Her reply was cutting “If their supply are destroyed they will ride out and strip the surrounding villages of everything they own. I wish to rid the citizens of Pars of this scourge, not bring more despair down upon them.” 

“Ah so you're a vigilante, how intriguing.”

“I am a Priestess. And this is not my true mission.”

“Your true mission? What's that?” 

“I-” The shadow of one of the guards moved suddenly. The woman dropped to the floor leaving Gieve to look straight into the eyes of the guard. He stepped back nervously, knocking over the oil lamp that has until then sat forgotten on the floor.

In the centre of the camp far away from the storage tent Colonel Bakhtiari snored, unaware of the disaster about to befall his camp.

XXXXXXX

Daryun stood up on his stirrups and gazed down at the passing patrol, they hadn’t spotted him yet but it didn’t matter, they soon would. They had been following Alfreed back to her tribe when Narsus had received word from one of his spies that there had been multiple sightings of Arslan in the area Alfreed had last seen him.

The sighting were so fleeting that the Lusitanians hadn’t been taking them seriously but they couldn’t count on that to continue. Daryun didn't feel the concern that Narsus felt at the strange movement of the Lusitanian patrols; one man or one-hundred, from the north of from the west, he would strike them all down. This was no time for the subtle half measure Narsus preferred, however clever. After all that time Arslan was within his reach again. 

There was shouting from below; they had spotted him. Daryun cantered down to meet them before they could even think of defending themselves. As he unseated the the man at the head of the Patrol, he glanced at the man's saddle- at what was attached to the man's saddle.

His vision seemed to tunnel and for a moment he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. It came to him in jumps and blurs.

A golden helm. 

A small sliver breastplate. 

He remembered his dream; Arslan pale and cold under the hot, hot sun. He didn’t remember the ensuing battle. When he came back to himself he was wet with blood. Daryun didn’t bother turning back to fetch his companions, the scene he left behind would be explanation enough, he turned his horse and headed towards the camp the soldiers had come from.

Arslan was dead and Daryun would make the world pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has my first ever oc, and despite him being a sad cliche of a drunk, I feel a weird urge to protect him. Its kind of unfortunate then that he's probably going to be murdered with extreme prejudice in the next chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

Gieve lunged forward and kneed the Guard in the gut, grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him down into the path of the rapidly spreading fire. The man jumped up, screaming. People often start screaming when they're on fire, even more so when their panic propels them into the side of a tent, bringing half of the structure down on top of them. 

Gieve raised both his hands, lifting the canvas away from his face. Smoke was beginning to fill the small space but through the haze Gieve could see the woman crouched by a stack of crates. She spotted him too and was by his side in moments, the screams of the guard now accompanied by the shouts of soldiers.

“It seems like it would be to our mutual benefit to continue our partnership, I take it you have some skill with the weapons you carry?”

Gieve smirked “Of course” 

“Then we have a chance; we make our move now before anyone realises what’s going on and if we come up against opposition, two will be better than one” 

She reached for the dagger at her belt and Gieve smiled “We'll be off and away before they even realise that we were here.”  
They freed themselves from the tent and burst coughing out into the fresh cool air of the night"

Gieve blinked “When I said we wouldn’t have any trouble, I meant that we could deal with some soldiers, not that they just wouldn’t bother to try and stop us”

The terrible screams had quieted as the Guard choked on the thick smoke that was blowing out from the fire they left behind them but the shouting men that they had heard, though they were out of sight, seemed to be getting louder. 

“I’m not shedding any tears. Lets go before the fates punish us for our complacency” 

Gieve followed the woman as she made her way cautiously through the camp, her bow, strung and ready for action, in her hands. The moon had risen fully in the sky and there was a chill to the air. Unfortunately there slow progress meant that they didn’t get a chance to feel the cold; the fire they had left behind them had grown. A combination of bone dry rope and canvas and a strong southerly wind had facilitated the fires rapid spread. The fire raged unchecked by the Lusitanians, cutting of their best chance of escape. They could brave the fire, or the Lusitanians. Gieve hesitated, both had their risks...

“The smoke will either kill us or we'll get turned around in it. ” the women stated bluntly “the Lusitanians are so focused on whatever they're dealing with” she paused as a distant scream split the nights sky “that they wont be likely to bother with us.  
”  
“I agree. But if they do bother us and I, overcome by the vexation of having to deal with them... well if I fail to make good my escape with you... I have another favour to beg of you”

The woman started walking again “a favour?”

“Yes. I haven’t been entirely transparent about my purpose” talking to someone back made Gieve nervous; he could never tell what the other party were thinking “I have a companion waiting for me, if I can't, he'll need protection”

“He can't look after himself?”

“He's the Crown Prince of Pars”

She stopped dead. When she turned around Gieve was both pleased and astonished to realise that her expression of thinly veiled dislike had melted into a look of grudging respect.

“Then it seems our interests are more closely aligned than I could ever have anticipated. Greetings Vassal of Prince Arslan, I am Farangis, Priestess of the Temple of Mithra. I was sent to protect the very Prince you serve”

She smiled at Gieve, who smiled back. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being called a Vassal but if it warmed the heart of a beautiful woman to think of him as such, then he wasn't going to correct her. 

As they crept through the camp the number of soldiers slowly increased from small panicked groups Farangis and Gieve could avoid, to larger groups they split between them. Past those there was the single strangest war zone Gieve had ever seen. They crouched low in the shadows. Again there were lots of fires but here the soldiers were making an effort to put them out. These efforts were in vain because their foe was lighting fires as quickly then anyone could put them out and killing anyone and everyone who tried to stop him. This wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary if said foe wasn't only one man. 

One very large scary man.

This man was dressed completely in black and held a torch in one hand and a spear in the other. He wasn’t the largest person Gieve had ever seen but he definitely looked like he would happily feast of the bleeding corpse of any number of behemoths. He glanced at Farangis, she shrugged as bewildered as he was by the freak appearance of a spear wielding beserker, she looked past him. The look of concern on her face seemed so out of place that Gieve looked too.

There was a clear run to the woods that lay the east of the camp, the behemoth eater was occupied with, and occupying the Lusitanians. The ground was damp; a fire had been put out recently. And standing next to his horse in those woods, looking straight at him, was Arslan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gieve and Farangis are sneaky sneaky  
> Daryun is kinda crazy   
> Arslan is just standing around to be create dramatic tension  
> and wherever Narsus is he is very, very concerned.


	13. Chapter 13

Elam was trying to keep contact with Alfreed to a minimum.

He was thwarted by the fact that, despite all his wishes to the contrary, he was sharing a horse with her. It was bad enough even without the added humiliation of having to grasp her about the waist as she pushed her horse into a canter. They were on Daryuns trail, having discovered the site of Daryuns roadside massacre. 

The armour of Prince Arslan had been found a respectful distance away from the corpses, the significance of which had to be explained to Alfreed who had last seen the Prince swathed in cloth not bound in metal. Elam was relived; it would have been nice for there pointless search for the Prince to be over, but he still felt twisted up inside at the thought of Daryun losing all hope. It was already hard to see someone he respected fall so low, so quickly, almost as hard as it had been to see the type of food Narsus had been preparing in his absence. 

Elam promised himself that when they finally got settled somewhere new he would cook something so incredible that it would wipe the memory of the whole incident from their minds. They set out after Daryun. Alfreed rode after Narsus, she was a confident rider even though their night-time ride was lit only by the torch he carried. Narsus was less gifted; he felt his horse stumble and list beneath him, and while he was sorry to force the horse to bear the gauntlet of his inexperience, he also couldn’t live with himself if left Daryun to self destruct. A few weeks of erratic behaviour wouldn’t destroy the bonds formed over more than a decade. 

Soon Narsus was relived to find that he no longer needed his torch; a raging fire had sprung up in the direction that Daryun had ridden to. Narsus couldn’t help but smile slightly; no one but Daryun could face such overwhelming odds and still be the favourite to win. In fact, while Daryuns decision making process was currently in question, his execution of any decisions was in a word flawless. Skill, however, would be of no use if Daryun was faced with the return of the remaining Lusitanian patrols. A panicked, unprepared and disorganised force was proving to be easy enough for Daryun to combat, but the patrols would be prepared, would be expecting a fight.

As they drew closer to the camp it become apparent that what he had thought was one fire, was two fires. The first they saw had been allowed to spread too far and the Lusitanians had given up on dousing it, instead digging a ditch around it and piling the soil up as a fire break. The second fire was in truth more of a circle of small blazes with Daryun at their centre. Narsus, deciding speed was for once a greater virtue than elegance, took a breath to hail his friend but paused when he saw the strangest expression fall across Daryuns face. The look of stoic determination melted away to be replaced by a look of wonderment. Daryun shrugged off the soldiers that ran at him and began to run single mindedly towards whatever had captured his attention. 

Narsus scanned the chaos for what Daryun was so fixated on but instead saw two sinister figures crouching low in the ashes at the edge of the skirmish. As Narsus watched one of them lifted there bow, reaching for an arrow. Narsus urged his horse forward as he drew his sword and let out a blood-curdling battle-cry. This battle-cry was more function than form, but it performed its function beautifully; the would be assassins shot sailed past Daryun, as he flinched away from the new threat behind him. The Shooters companion turned to face Narsus, bow at the ready and Narsus hesitated recognising the garb of a devotee to one of the Temples. She didn’t share his hesitance and drew back her bowstring. 

At that moment Narsus was tackled hard from behind. 

Knocked from his horse, he fell heavily to the ground, rolling as he landed to lessen the impact. Narsus had fallen from a horse before but it wasn’t a common enough occurrence for him to be any good at it. He tried to focus on what had happened instead of the pain and as he replayed the events of the last few moments something had began to occur to him. After all they followed the rumours for a reason. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw Alfreed panting next to him on the ground. They had with them one of the last people to see Arslan and his companion... did Alfreed say he carried a bow? Before he even looked up at Daryun he thought he knew what he was going to see.

XXXXXXX 

Daryun stumbled to a halt a few feet away from Arslan. From a distance he had thought he'd seen the ghost that had been haunting his dreams but as he drew closer he saw the slight flush to Arslans skin and he hated himself for ever losing faith. He gazed at him hungrily, so intent upon devouring every detail that it was Arslan who finally closed the gap between them. Daryun closed his eyes as he felt Arslan embrace him tightly. His spear dropped to the floor with a clang and Daryun hugged Arslan to his chest, lifting him off the ground and relishing the warmth of his body. Arslan struggled for breath as the tightness of the hug and the stench of blood and death rolling off Daryun chocked him but he didn’t try to pull away. Daryun had always made him feel safe, not just because Daryun was the strongest person Arslan knew but also because Daryun was one of the few people who were always unconditionally happy to see Arslan. Daryun released him from the hug seconds later only to frantically check him over, his bloody hands leaving red smudged on Arslans clothes and skin. 

“I'm fine, Daryun, you're okay- why are you here? Did anyone else survive the battle?”

“You're alive.” Daryun ignored, or perhaps didn’t hear Arslans questions. “How are you still alive?”

“I ran.” Arslan smiled sadly “and didn’t stop running for days and days... and then I met a new friend.” 

Arslan looked past Daryun and blanched with shock; where the had been two people there were now five. Gieve was attempting to charm a strangely familiar red headed woman who was being held back from him by a tall blonde man. The stern woman he'd seen before with Gieve was sizing up a young man about Arslans age. This wasn’t what caused Arslan to go pale. 

The fires Daryun had set were burning down and the remaining Lusitanians had reformed themselves into something approaching a defensive line. A red-faced, greying solider pushed his way past his men. He stood with the inescapable confidence of a man who had been denied death too many times to ever hope for it again. The soldier took a swig from the cup he held, then glared with bloodshot eyes at the seven people who had interrupted his evening drinking session.

“Fucking Foreigners” He blared drunkenly “alright, you caught us of guard. But we've already conqured half of your blasted land, I think we can manage the rest of you.”

His men were so surprised at the sudden emergence of what looked almost like leadership from their Colonel that they didn’t react. 

Daryun stooped and picked up his spear as Narsus, Farangis, Gieve, Alfreed and Elam grouped together, their earlier dispute forgotten in the face of the new threat.

And only a mile to the east one of the returning Lusitanian patrols rushed back to their camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Daryun and Arslan are reunited. Daryun now has +7 on all melee attacks.
> 
> Narsus may work out whats going on within two seconds but no force on earth could prevent Alfreed from trying to bitchslap Gieve into apologising to her future fiance.
> 
> I also like to think of Elam and Farangis squaring off like two angry cats; i think they have a lot in common.


	14. Chapter 12

Gieve tried to focus on the grainy floor of the wagon they had commandeered but it blurred and warped as the wagon rolled up the long mountain track. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and a water-skin was pressed to his lips. The cool flood of water did nothing to ease his nausea. 

Arslan was crouched next to him, eyes wide with concern. His eyelids felt heavy but every time he tried to close his eyes Arslan would gently pat him awake. It was the advice of- of- someone, a smug sounding bastard who probably made it his lives work to deprive the handsome of their beauty sleep. 

A rock in the road sent both the wagon and Gieves stomach lurching, horrified, he felt himself vomit. Arslan was lifted away from him by strong arms, and Gieve heard a high pitched sequel of disgust from the far end of the wagon. He convulsed again, bringing up nothing but bile. He couldn’t decide if it was worse being sick or feeling the weight of everyone’s judgement because he'd been sick. Arslan, now nestled safely in Daryuns lap, asked Gieve if he was okay. This display of concern did not comfort Gieve as much as it would have otherwise; Daryun was glaring at him like it was his fault he'd been sick, which was fucking rich seeing as it was Daryuns fault he was in that state. In fact he'd go so far as to say that everything that had gone wrong in his, admittedly blurry, memories of the last few hours were entirely Daryuns fault.

Here is what Gieve remembered; the Lusitanian Camp. Absolute chaos. Gieve couldn’t believe that it had all gone so wrong so quickly. Apparently it was too much to ask just to go on quest to restore a royal to his throne with a charming, beautiful yet cold partner. No, the minute there was a Prince involved every asshole in a hundred league radius was clamouring to ruin his stealth mission. On the bright side, he got to show off to Farangis. So there he was fighting his way out of someone else’s mess when he was hit over the head by Daryun. That bastard. Gieves face twisted up into a grimace, Daryun, he thought, his brief moment of lucidity fading away, would feel pretty fucking stupid when Arslan gave him his disappointed look.

Narsus had thought the privacy afforded by a covered wagon would be an advantage and it was, but he still cursed the lack of ventilation. He peeked out the back of the wagon; they were still being followed but the soldiers wouldn’t dare get closer. Not with their trump card.

On the floor Colonel Bakhtiari shuddered as a trail of cold sick slowly travelled down his back. He had never been important enough to be held hostage before and he couldn’t say the new experience was recommending itself to him.

A few hours ago Colonel Bakhtiari had only just began to sober up, something which might have made another man careless not Bakhtiari though, who had spent over three decades learning by route the ways of the soldier and then of the leader. As far as he was concerned alcohol was a tool like any other a solider used to survive; a shield that stopped the pain of watching people die around you instead of arrows. He was uncharacteristically hopeful that night; he had around fifty men behind him and soon there would be far more if they managed to get the other fire under control, not to mention the patrols scheduled to return. All of them against a few locals with a chip on their shoulders. 

This hope remained with him for no more than a few minutes. The real problem, he had thought to himself, was that nobody bothered training people who were expected to die in the first charge anyway. He drew his sword, and took a breath as his men started to scatter around him. He was engaged by a man with purple hair, Bakhtiari had never liked the colour purple – it reminded him far to much of the slimy livers which would be laid down in his uncles butcher shop, so he took great pleasure in the fight. Even when he realised he was losing he didn’t feel scared, somehow he'd always thought that he would be scared when the time came, when he could finally join all his- the spear wielding man appeared on a horse like a monster popping up in a children story and struck down Bakhtiari's attacker.

Bakhtiari... Bakhtiari didn’t know what to make of this so it was fortunate that his attention was taken up by the more immediate issue of being kidnapped.

Narsus wasn't proud of stooping to such levels but he knew a strategist however brilliant must sometimes chose pragmatism over honour. And no one could say that it didn’t work especially not Daryun who seemed to be all good faith and camaraderie now he knew Arslan was safe. The return of the Daryun, the reasonable cooperative Daryun was a blessing beyond blessings and their hostage was as good as any moat or wall in the world for stopping the returning Patrols in their tracks. 

Daryun held Arslan tightly in his arms, something Arslan bore with admirable equanimity, he didn’t feel that sorry for knocking Arslans musician friend on the head; if the commanding officer of the Lusitanians had been killed their escape might not have gone so very smoothly. He did, however, wish that Arslan wouldn’t look so disappointed in him. 

Together the adventurers (and their hostage) stewed together in their discomfort. All except Elam who, having wisely elected to drive the wagon, steered them towards Peshewar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on the Canon divergence become a bit more significant. Yay! And everyone's angry and covered in vomit, um, slightly less yay?
> 
> If this chapter feels really awkward to read vis a vis chronology then i'm very sorry. Just tell me if im being a dick who cant make timelines clear.


	15. Chapter 15

The silence inside the wagon was oppressive, everyone hyper aware of the hostage listening to everything they had to stay, but Narsus didn't mind it; he already had a plan for the hostage and needed time to plan his next move. The situation was getting dangerous, or rather he was getting dangerously involved with the situation.

Gradually as they traveled deeper and deeper into the mountains Narsus noticed something was amiss. He scrambled up towards the front of the wagon and slipped out onto the driving seat next to Elam. For a moment he paused to catch his breath, relishing the clean cool air that flooded his lungs then he looked around and his suspicions were confirmed.

"Something is wrong with Fort Peshewar"

They had stopped in an slight natural enclave that hid them from the prying eyes of the distant Lusitanians who were nervously watching Alfreed who had volunteered with alarming enthusiasm to threaten the Colonel out on the road. 

"How could you possibly know that?" the fresh air had restored some of Gieves equilibrium but none of his patience.

Daryun stood up from where he'd been wrapping Arslan up in his cloak against the cold "We're deep in the mountains; by now we should have seen some soldiers from Peshewar"

Narsus nodded "If they've stopped sending out even their scouts something must be wrong; sickness, they could have been attacked or it could even be a power struggle from within, though I cant see that if Kishward is in command."

"So we might be walking into a siege?" Arslan asked.

Everyone chose to ignore the scornful sound that Elam made, though Arslans default expression of cheerful optimism dimmed slightly.

"If we rule out sickness it the only likely scenario: if Fort Peshewar has been attacked i doubt that any army on earth could breach its defenses, so yes, your highness a siege" 

Farangis raised a single immaculate brow "Do you have another plan? After your last scheme worked out for us all"

 

The only clue that Narsus gave to his irritation was his hands clenching; he kept his face deliberately placid "If you object to my methods you only have to propose an alternative, I didn't see you doing that down in the camp"

"I didn't see the need for an alternative; I based my trust on the fact that his Highness seemed to know and trust you but now i find myself questioning your motives. Who are you, exactly and why did help us, were you looking for his Highness or did you just stumble across us and decide that that between us and the Lusitanians, you hated us less. Its not an act of the trustworthy to conspire to injure one of their allies" 

Gieve tried to nod in agreement but was thwarted by his persistent desire to vomit up his guts.

Narsus didn't dignify Farangis's accusation with a response. Elam, however, couldn't let it stand. He spoke at great length the about pains they had taken to find Arslan, he expounded on his theory that Daryun injuring Gieve was a necessary evil to prevent an amateur warrior destroying their chances of escape and was just in the middle of explaining why Narsus was the greatest tactician Pars had ever seen when Arslan interrupted him.

"Excuse me!" Arslan hated how young he sounded "I don't actually know either of you but I'm sure you both have good reasons for being here, even if those reasons are different so we shouldn't tear each other apart just because we all started out on the wrong foot. When i first met Gieve he almost crushed me but I don't hold that against him" Arslan blushed "Of all of you only Gieve has promised me any loyalty so if you find yourselves unable to reconcile your differences I give you my blessing to leave. Its enough that we have to fight the Lusitanians, I don't want us to be fighting each other as well"

It wasn't in either Farangis's or Narsus's nature to look contrite; Farangis grew up in an environment where her peer group would pounce on any sign of weakness, desperate for a chance to topple the perfect Farangis and Narsus rarely felt any guilt or regret; he could always justify his actions. Farangis admitted to herself that perhaps it was wrong to judge others when she was arguably just as suspicious. 

She dropped to one knee "My Apologies, your Highness, I forgot to properly introduce myself in all the commotion; my name is Farangis and I will pledge myself to you, if you will accept me, and act as befits one of your company"

Daryun looked at the scene with an air of distinct approval, and Narsus almost groaned, this, he knew was the moment Daryun expected him to offer his services to the prince. Well Daryun was just going to have to be disappointed.

"I'm sorry to say that I cannot make you the same promises, you seem like an honorable man but I have other commitments" seeing Daryun start to bristle Narsus continued quickly "I came with Daryun to help him find you and having done that, I plan to leave as soon as possible"

"Okay"

This pulled Narsus up short; he had expected more than a fight.

"You don't want my help?" 

Arslan smiled sadly "There could be no greater honor but my Lord Father bullied his way through life, I refuse to do the same thing. If I'm to rebuild Pars after the war, if I wish to be a good ruler, I cannot have my reign build on forcing people into my service"

Narsus opened his mouth to point out the inherent hypocrisy of Arslans words but Elam beat him to it "forcing people, forcing people! Can you hear yourself! You've lives your entire life fed and clothed by slaves people you've forced into service! You-" Elam lost all words his face gaining a purple tinge.

"You're right and I'm sorry. Its because I'm sorry I have to start as I mean to go on. When I sit on the throne and announce the abolition of slavery... I won't have anyone doubt my commitment to the cause"

Narsus couldn't see Daryun but he could feel the smugness radiating off him. Daryun was always twice as insufferable when he was right about something and it was beginning to look like he had been right about the Young Prince Arslan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it really hard to write arguments among Arslans camp mostly because I'm have no real canon (I mean wtf why do they never have internal conflict) to go of so I'm just going off my wild guesses as to what it might be like.


	16. Chapter 16

Alfreed had thought that the mountains would be just like the desert, just higher up, she somehow hadn't anticipated the cold. It wasn't that she hadn't heard stories of places other than her arid home; the Zot clan had no patience for the written word but new tales of far off places were always welcome. Most of the stories that made their way to Alfreed, however, were heavy on the action and romance but noticeably lacking climate analysis. 

She shuffled her feet then, when that failed to warm her up, she started to bounce lightly; a great cause for concern for Colonel Bakhtiari who gulped as her knife wavered dangerously at his throat. If his men had been closer he would have told them to bugger off; it wasn't like he would do the same for them if their positions were reversed and maybe, Bakhtiari thought, if he died then the soldiers under his command might actually get a commander who wanted the job. They deserved that much even if they were stupid enough to follow him out into enemy territory. Though considering how close they were to an Peshewar it seemed odd that they weren't seeing much of said enemy. 

Bakhtiari might have followed that chain of thought if he hadn't noticed something that increased his desire for an alcoholic beverage immeasurably. A few of his men that had followed him were missing. He almost didn't notice; they had been slipping away one by one over the past half hour, so gradually it was almost unnoticeable unless you were paying attention. Bakhtiari quietly groaned; following him into the mountains was an admirable display of loyalty; attempting to go up against the man who had just instigated a slaughter at their camp was plain stupid. 

An Arrow skimmed between the heads of Bakhtiari and Alfreed, to their mutual shock and the chagrin of the archer who had been aiming for Alfreed. Alfreed reeled backwards and fell to the ground, she scrambled to her feet and rushed to the cliff-face narrowly avoiding three more arrows sent her way. She slipped, gasping, into the alcove and turned to Narsus. 

"Someone tried to shoot me" she cried indignantly.

"From the road?"

Alfreed shook her head "No, whoever shot at me was on the clifftops, above me."

"Oh? It appears i gave our Lusitanian friends too little credit, they have us nicely pinned here. I wager that their next move will be to have their men on the road march up here and surround us" Narsus said, calmly.

"You're not concerned?" Alfreed asked "do you already have a plan?"

Narsus smiled enigmatically. Before his exile Narsus had been known as a great stratagist and he took great pride in his enduring reputation as a man who could solve any problem. While he mourned the temporary derailment of his artistic lifestyle, Narsus had found that nothing quite replaced the thrill of outmatching an opponent. The secret, of course, was preparation; Narsus had spent the whole uncomfortable Wagon ride plotting against their pursers and now he was able to pluck a solution seemingly from thin air. 

He laid out his plan confidently, surprising himself by looking to Arslan for his approval. His instructions were simple and a group of people less confident in their abilities would have balked at them. As it was Farangis climbed back into the wagon as Elam unhitched the horses. Once Farangis was settled in the wagon she rose to her feet and sliced away a section of the wagons canvas roof. Unlike Narsus, Farangis had never sought to prove her superiority by besting others; she was confident in her abilities and that was enough for her. What she did care about, though, was fulfilling her duty. But if her duty happened to set her on the path of a hero she wasn't about to complain. She unslung her bow from her back and struggled to to keep her balance as Daryun pushed the wagon out of the alcove. The wagon trundled downhill as Farangis counted three deep breathes then she peered up through the slit in the roof. She saw the Archers who had shot at Alfreed, seven of them, it was the work of a moment to pick off two of them but then her view of them was gone even as they returned her fire. As the wagon picked up speed she wondered if Narsus was really correct when he said it wasn't necessary to bale out of the wagon before it fell off the cliff. 

Just in case he was wrong she prepared to jump out the Wagon long before it was in any danger of falling; she poked her head out of the wagon just in time to see a handful of Lusitanian soldiers fall under the wheels of the wagon, jamming its wheels. The rest of the Lusitanians, some of them still fleeing from the unexpected Wagon rampage, tried to swarm her but she climbed to the top of the Wagon. She wasn't shot which meant that Elam and Daryun had been successful in killing the remaining archers while they were distracted by Farangis. 

From then on the skirmish was a slaughter. Daryun rode down on one of the wagon horses with Narsus flanking him and Elam following on foot. Strangely by the time the fight was over Colonel Bakhtiari was nowhere to be found. They didn't bother looking for him; it seemed unlikely that he would return.

They traveled onward, cautiously, not knowing what they would find at Peshewar. 

A little perversely they felt better for the victory, it wiped away the lingering embarrassment of the previous night and as the sun rose in the mountains they found themselves over looking Fort Peshewar and the might of Prince Rajendra's Army which surrounded it. The sight was overwhelming.

Arslans breath came shallowly and his all too familiar feeling of uselessness, augmented by how little he had helped his newfound companions in their latest fight settled shroud like over his skin. Then Gieve, still wobbly on his legs and denied the support of Farangis's lovely shoulder lent on the side of the now slightly bloody but miraculously unbroken Wagon. 

"Are my eyes getting better or is that bird getting closer?"

Everyone looked up, Arslan laughed and a bird dropped out of the sky. Its claws dug into the unprotected flesh of Arslans arm but he didn't mind; he was too busy greeting another friend from the past. 

Gieve stared at the bird who was nuzzling and cooing at Arslan more kitten than falcon.

"Do birds always fly down to worship at your Highness's feet or is this a new development?"

Daryun answered "Not all birds just ones with good sense" he smiled at Narsus who was already drafting a message to send to Kishward. Alfreed rushed forward to get a better look at the bird with Elam, feigning disinterest, close behind.

"His name is Azrael, Gieve" said Arslan finally. And the next time they looked down at the terrible foe before them, even without a single detail having been changed, their world was saturated with hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birds make everything better. Everything.


	17. Chapter 17

The walk back to Colonel Bakhtiari's camp was long and lonely. Bakhtiari considered it his penance and accepted it with good grace. Every time he emerged unscathed from combat he promised himself that he would be a better man; that his life being spared had to mean something. Bakhtiar was intimately familiar with the concept of meaning being degraded with repetition. The details of each brush with death varied but on the rare occasions Bakhtiari was sober enough, he could admit to himself that the common thread that linked them all together was his cowardice. Back in the mountains Bakhtiari had failed to stop his men from following through with their plan. It wasn't fair to blame those soldiers for their actions; Bakhtiari had failed to convey to his men what only the experience of an entire military carrier had taught him; in war, as in life, God had his favorites and the brave Farmers Son would never fell the Enemy General or win the heart of the Princess with feats of valor... but they would most certainly die trying. 

When he finally returned he expected chaos in his camp but what he got was perhaps more disturbing. New tents stood in place of the charred ones from the night before and there were men, lots of them; far more than would have been in his camp even before the attack. Bakhtari made himself known and was taken, no not taken, ordered to report to the Commanding officer. And so, late that morning, Colonel Bakhtari came face to face with General Hilmes, the Silver Mask. General Hilmes spared a quick glance at Bakhtari, his eyes lingering critically at the empty sheath at his hip, then smiled grimly. Bakhtari saw a glimmer of sharp teeth and shuddered.

For a man who had suffered serious concussive trauma less than two days ago and more than 1500 years before the term concussive had come into medical practice, Gieve was doing well. Gieve attributed his recovery to his thick, lustrous hair protecting his skull, Arslan just thanked their good fortune and Daryun silently cursed his bad luck.

Gieve liked to talk, this on its own didn't bother Daryun, who had, after all, grown up alongside Narsus, but Arslan hung on every vapid word that slipped from Gieves mouth. It was even worse when he spoke of the adventures he had shared with Arslan, as while it was hard to accept that Arslan hadn't needed his help, it was even harder to entertain the thought that only luck had led Arslan to trustworthy allies and safety. Daryun would never let Arslans life fall into the hands of fate again. 

They were still crouched overlooking Peshewar and the army of Prince Rajendra surrounding her. Farangis headed off with their only horse, a move coincidentally coinciding with Gieves romanticised account of their first meeting, exploring the maze of trails that ran over the mountains. Narsus sat staring intently at the intelligence Kishward sent him. Alfreed lingering near him trying to look both interested and intelligent. Narsus sighed and looked up at his companions; he would have liked to discuss his plans with Daryun however Daryun, who was plastered to Arslans side, his eyes constantly searching for threats, was not an option. Alfreed smiled at Narsus and he, knowing that any word or gesture of his would be interpreted romantically, smiled back and asked for her opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are at last over *applause*  
> (and quiet sobbing as I realise my fate is sealed)


	18. Chapter 18

Farangis was wearing more layers than she was accustomed to and her underclothes were beginning to stick to her with sweat. The clothes of a noblewomen were more of an inconvenience than she would have thought, but Alfreed, tattooed as she was, was unable to play the part, so she endured silently, and with a dignity that filled Arslan, who was sitting opposite her, with shame. 

He had been restless for hours, shifting his position minutely every few minutes in hope of finding a spot in the carriage that was magically exempt from the stifling heat. He but his lip to keep himself from complaining; he knew there was a good reason he had to sit in the stuffy carriage and he didn't want to whine about it to his companions. They were already in danger just by being in Shindra, especially with what they were plotting, so they couldn't afford to appear as anything other than a widowed Aristocrat, her young Son and their escort.

He also knew that his companions had decidedly mixed feelings about him. Three weeks of travel hadn't been sufficient for Arslan to form a closer bond with Farangis than that of duty but she gave the impression of being quietly but indomitably supportive which was in sharp contrast to Elam who persisted in treating Arslan as coldly as possible. Arslan didn't think that there was anything he could do that would make Elam like him. 

The carriage hit a rock in the road and lurched violently, upending Arslan from his seat. He fell to the floor, scraping his bare elbows. Farangis offered a hand to help him up but before he could take it the carriage ground to a halt and its door banged open. Daryun stepped into the carriage crouching down to gently lift Arslan back into his seat. Outside Alfreed whooped in excitement and mounted Daryuns horse; she had been seething for days about having to ride on the back of the carriage. With three people inside, the carriage had gone from stuffy to claustrophobic but Arslan didn't want to complain. Whenever Daryun lost sight of Arslan or thought he might be in danger he got an awful look in his eye like he was a child trapped in a nightmare. Arslan wanted to help him, unfortunately the only thing that seemed to work was surrendering to Daryun coddling him which didn't improve Elams opinion of him being a spoilt rich boy. 

Narsus still spoke about leaving and while Arslan knew Narsus was only paying lip service to his wish for independence it still made him feel a little insecure and it was plain Alfreed was following Narsus and not him. Perhaps, Arslan thought, it was not how they felt about him that bothered him, it was that while all of them were following him for their own reasons none of them followed him because they had faith in him. Except, of course, for Gieve but Gieve had ridden ahead days ago to investigate the capital of Shindra in preparation for their arrival. Narsus had wanted more recent information than the rumors he had picked up on the road. They needed all the advantages they could get if they were to pull off Narsus' plan. Daryun wrapped a muscle bound arm round Arslans waist holding him in place, then rapped on the roof of the Carriage. The Carriage trundled on the heat now augmented by Dayuns solid mass plastered to his side.

Gieve walked through the gates of the Capital just after dawn. The entrance toll was exorbitant enough that Gieve wanted to hate the city on principal but he found he couldn't. The streets were packed and Gieve set his mood right almost immediately by selling his horse for far more than it was worth. Gieve was a natural born haggler as it combined two of his greatest loves; money and the sound of his own voice. His profit wasn't enough to cover the entrance toll, but it did lessen the sting slightly.

He headed further into the city and his good impression was solidified; there were hordes of people and all of them, even the poorest, were dressed in bright attractive colours. The rank scent of thousands of people cramped together under the hot sun was masked by the dizzying array of spices that street vendors proudly advertised and the hot oil fried food that sizzled away on cast iron skillets. It was riotous, an assault on the senses and utterly overwhelming. Gieve loved it. He spied a gaggle of young women, weighed down by baskets balanced on their heads. Gieve watched their meandering progress up the street and noted their uniforms and the fact that they were headed towards the palace. He followed them as unobtrusively as possible for some minutes, sizing them all up, his gaze lingered on the smallest girl, the word woman could not be used to describe her, walking towards the back of the group. She was silent, her eyes cast down and was the only one who was struggling to carry her basket. If anyone had chanced to look at Gieves face in the crowd, they would have been frightened by the ugly calculative expression that spread across his face. 

He darted into a side street and ran ahead reentering the main street next to a flower stall. He glanced over his shoulder; the group of girls were still some distance away.  
The flower seller smile broadly and Gieve and said "Ah sir, Sir you look like a man who will appreciate the quality of my fresh picked tulips roses iris get your fresh flowers here ladies and gentlemen best quality best prices sir-"

It was a good sales pitch, delivered with verve and good humour, so Gieve felt a tinge of guilt when he punched the man in the face. The flower seller stumbled back, hurt and confused, then just as Gieve thought he had backed the wrong horse, The flower seller leapt forward, his fists raised and took a swing at Gieve who stepped back.

"Stand still you bastard!"

A small furious looking woman appeared from the back of the stall  
"Tch, stop messing around with your foolish friends Eskander and get back to work. Our children cannot live on flowers you know!"

Eskander hesitated then turned to protest his innocence, to rally against the injustice. The fight looked to be ending before it had began. So Gieve punched The flower sellers wife. And that was when the brawl really began.

The girls carrying the baskets didn't pay any attention to the fight when it first started; scuffles were not uncommen in the market, and they had other things to do, better things like accept small gifts from amorous young stall workers and make plans for their precious free time. Maryam walked behind them, her head bowed. She wanted desperately to speak up, to join in, but her words stuck in her throat. Every topic of conversation, every syllable that she could think of to push past her lips felt stupid. She was so engrossed in her misery that the first thing she knew of the brawl was being roughly shoved to the side, her basket flying from her head. She crumpled to the floor, holding back tears. A foot stomped down on her outstretched hand and she began to cry. No one noticed or cared to help her, She thought I don't care if I'm crushed to death, maybe then people will notice me, they'll regret ignoring me when they see my mangled corpse. She was just contemplating the specifics of her morbid fantasy when she was swept off the ground.

The world flipped and she was slung over a set of shoulders. The man set off through the brawl which was quickly becoming a politicised riot thanks to the interference of some young Rajendra loyalists, whenever he couldn't slip through the gaps in the fighting he cleared the way with careful blows from his sheathed sword. Maryam hung passively on his shoulder, stunned by the unprecedented turn of events. As soon as they were clear of the fighting and away in the quiet backstreets, the man set her gently down on the ground and handed her her missing basket. She blinked slowly, took her basket back with trembling greatefull hands and looked up at the face of her rescuer. He was the handsomest man that she had ever seen and he was turning the full force of his not inconsiderable charms on her. 

"Are you all right, Miss?"

Maryam nodded, her face beet red.

"I'm glad to hear it. I shudder to think what could have happened to such a beautiful young lady had I not happened upon you."

He smiled brilliantly and she returned it "Thank you for helping me" She flinched and blushed harder at the sound of her voice, too loud in the dark quiet of the alley. 

"It was my pleasure, beautiful" The man took her basket from her, balancing it on one shoulder whilst wrapping his other arm around her shoulders "I'm sorry if its an imposition but I really feel that I should escort you to your-" he unbuckled the lid of the basket and glanced inside. It was full to the brim with rice. "Rice Stall?" 

"N-no I work in the kitchens up at the Palace, its fine I can get their myself-"

"Sorry" the man smouldered at her with the intensity starving orphans reserve for an unattended foodstall "I couldn't live with myself if you fell in to the clutches of one of those disgusting street brawlers, I insist on being your knight for the time being."

Maryam could only nod weakly and let herself be lead away.

"Now tell me about yourself, tell me about working in the Palace. That must be very interesting; all the secrets you must learn..."

"Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't have anything to say that you would find interesting."

She didn't notice the mans smile turning faintly mocking "My Dear, let me assure you, there is not a word that could fall from your cherry lips that I could find anything less than fascinating."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gieve: a good man who does bad but necessary things or a morally bankrupt hedonist who just happens to work for the good guys? You decide.
> 
> Alternately 
> 
> Arslan: Adorable or super Adorable? 
> 
> Daryun: Creepy or Protective?


	19. Chapter 19

Elam knew he should have been sent ahead to scout, not Gieve. 

He knew Narsus far better, knew what information would be useful to him. Gieve probably only knew where the nearest brothel was. The knowledge burned beneath his skin, whipping him up into a frenzy of resentful thoughts. He moved sharply around the kitchen, the fussy layers of his Shindran clothing still irritating him even after weeks of travel. 

On their arrival in the city they had been met by a girl, perhaps around Arslan's age. Narsus talked to her, still astride his horse and she looked at him with the shy eagerness of someone who wanted to make a good impression and glowed in the blushing tender light of her first love, all the time unaware that the letter she faithfully delivered from Gieve described her as a "useful fool".

The rests of the letter was full of smug hints about their good fortune in having Gieve as an ally. Narsus' brow furrowed and he asked the girl if she could tell him what Gieve was doing. She giggled and said "Sorry, Gieve told me he would tell you in person, you know, he wanted to talk to such old friends face to face" She took a moment to gather her courage "Where do you know each other from any-"

Narsus cut her off "Do you know where we might be able to hire a house? My benefactor dislikes travel and wishes to rest as soon as possible. Farangis twitched back the carriages curtain and glared at the girl with regal impatience. The girl stumbled out an address, cowed by the weight of perceived authority and Narsus sent her back to Gieve telling him to visit the address as soon as possible. 

The house she sent them to was large and fine as well as being somewhat beyond their current means, still, it was the type of property that a lady from the provinces would hire so they dug deep and let the wizened proprietress merrily relive them of their last funds. Their sudden poverty made Elam more uncomfortable than the others but, he reflected morbidly, if all went well then money would be the least of their worries. They payed for a full weeks residence. That didn't strike Elam as odd but Arslan frowned and, once they were settled in their lodgings, said "Surely if we are going to pass as nobility we should present ourselves at court immediately, My Lord Father" Arslan paled, remembering the Kings suffocating presence "never looked kindly on those who didn't show him due deference"

They were all seated in the kitchen, a large subterranean room that always retained a slight chill in comparison to the heat of the rest of the house, but it was this rooms other qualities that attracted our conspirators; the kitchens thick wooden doors that muffled sound, the fire on which they could destroy evidence of their machinations and a tiny window high up that offered a view up the street.

Farangis was crouched on top of a work surface intently staring through that window, scanning the street. They had no reason to fear discovery so soon and honestly Narsus felt doubtful that the advantages offered by hiding out in the kitchen could outweigh the suspicion generated if someone, their tottering proprietress for example, found her Aristocratic clients loitering with their servants but being underground was comforting, it was easier to plot down in the dim light of the kitchen, then in the world above where prying eyes and listening ears seemed to lurk around every corner.

Narsus laughed "And though I imagine his anger would pale in comparison to Your Lord Father's, his temper is famous, and famously unpredictable, but he won't be offended by this; the customs in Shindra are quite different to those you learnt in Pars. The Prince would be more offended if we turned up expecting the hospitality of his court; if we are to charm him we should wait for a few days then present him with a gift" Narsus' eyes brightened "perhaps I can paint something for the occasion?"

Arslan, who had not yet been exposed to Narsus' artwork, looked interested but Daryun rolled his eyes and snarked "If we show him one of your paintings, then all your planning will go to waste; he'll drop dead from disgust" Daryun paused, considering "Actually that's not a bad plan: assassination by art. It will save us a lot of trouble"

Narsus bristled in delighted offense; he knew great artists always had fierce critics. He opened his mouth to rebuke Daryun but there was a knock on the door. 

Elam unlatched the door and peered up into the stairwell, his view was eclipsed by a heavy wooden chest that was thrust into his grasp as Gieve brushed past him into the room. Arslans face lit up and Gieve bowed to him, a sweeping, over-dramatic action that startled a laugh out of Arslan. Gieve sat down at the table between Arslan and Daryun. Elam set the chest down next to Narsus, Alfreed didn't wait a second before eagerly flipping the lid back she reeled back in amazed delight; the chest was full to the brim with gold. 

Narsus and Daryuns eyes met with mutual exasperation "Gieve, where did you get this"

Gieve smirked and leaned back in his chair.

Narsus ground his teeth "I asked for information Gieve, Names, Places, Escape routes. You were supposed to keep a low profile"

"And I have done all those things. Well almost all of those things, I swear to it by my love for My Lady Farangis"

Keeping her eyes firmly locked on the street, Farangis said "For the purposes of this mission we agreed that I should be referred to exclusively as Lady Ziba. None of can risk being associated with the murder of Gadevi but my cover is essential if we wish to infiltrate the palace"

"Actually that's no longer a concern"

"What do you mean?"

"I think its time you met Gieve, favored Musician of his most honored Crown prince Gadevi"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gieve dosen't know what this strange "low profile" thing is.
> 
> I looked back at my summary and have realised that it has nothing to do with this story after about 5 chapters. I guess false advertising is everywhere nowadays, huh.
> 
> Next time: I get into character as an evil elephant abuser (How could you do that to an elephant Gadevi? Urh, I hate that guy) so we can take a more comprehensive look at how Gieve utterly failed to keep a low profile.


	20. Chapter 20

Prince Gadevi was waiting. This was something that he always hated. Waiting, though he never admitted it to himself, made him feel helpless; caught up in the whims of someone else who had for some reason or other looked at him and then judged him as less important that whatever they were keeping him waiting for. There was nothing more important than Gadevi: he was the Prince who would be King. 

He rapped his knuckles on the hard wood of his chair, not throne,not yet, with languid furious impatience, rested his head on his hand, and tried not to look bothered by the nervous fighting of the messenger who had brought him the news of his guests delay, 

"She has to look after her son?"

"Yes, Your Highness, he fell suddenly ill as they were being escorted into your esteemed presence, The Lady Ianthe she sends- sends her deepest regrets and adds that were she able-"

"Enough!" Gadevi shouted, enjoying the quiver of fear that ran through his servants body "tell her she can leave the child to the care of my attendants. Her child cannot possibly be more important than me"

The messenger shuffled his feet, wincing, and Gadevi didn't bother to stop the sneer that spread over his face like an ugly crack in a tile.

"Leave us, and make sure you come back with good news if you wish to please Your Prince"

Gadevi let his gaze drift till he came to focus on the clear blue of the sky through vaulted windows, if he had strained himself he could have stretched upwards and seen the city spread out before him but Gadevi had never cared to strain himself in his life. Still his curiosity was stirred by a swath of bold red fluttering up into the azure of the sky. Was it a flag? His new Musician stepped forward blocking the window.

"A song perhaps your Majesty"

A man of talent, someone who, for once, really seemed to appreciate Gadevi's greatness. His name was Gieve and Gadevi knew he had an true ally in the man, an artist who's loyalty couldn't be brought and sold like other men. A moment later the first sweet sounds of an unfamiliar song drifted through the hall but Gadevi refused to let himself be soothed, minutes passed and one song surged into another, the music echoing around the room and through the Palace. 

Then the sound of footsteps; Loud, measured and confident. Gieve retreated back to his seat, taking the brief tranquility of his song with him. Then a woman rounded the corner attendants flocking behind her and her child, who she kept tucked under a protective arm. Gadevi stared in distaste; he had been told that the Lady Ianthe was a great beauty, beautiful enough that her husband kept her concealed in his estates near the Parsian boarders. Veiled as she was Gadevi could not say if that were so, but she was too tall for his tastes with a forceful air that inspired something in him that he would never admit to being fear, and that child she kept so close to her... Gadevi could never bear women who had lain with another man; he feared being disadvantaged by comparison. Lady Ianthe helped her child kneel, then prostrated herself before Gadevi.

"You may rise"

The Lady stood as did her son with remarkable grace for someone who had been too ill to move mere minutes before.

"Your Highness" said the lady "I am grateful for this audience you have granted me. I know you are usually far too busy attending to matters of state to bother with such mundanities, such kindness is truly a mark of a true leader"

Well, perhaps his first impression had been wrong.

Gieve caught Gadevi's eye and smirked; Gieve had been the man who had persuaded Gadevi of the Lady Ianthe's beauty in the first place. Gadevi might have thought they were related with how enthusiastically Gieve sang her praises.

"I could hardly turn down your requests for an audience" Gadevi regularly refused audiences. He hated listening to the petty concerns of noblemen and the peasantry alike. 

Ianthe inclined her head gracefully, this combined with her silence erased the last of Gadevi's Doubts from his mind; silence had always been a quality he had admired in women.

"It is rare for a Woman to venture the capital unaccompanied" He had meant it as a throwaway comment but the Lady Ianthe seamed to wilt at his words.

"Your Highness is so perceptive... I...I have some terrible news, news that will perhaps sadden you" Lady Ianthe swept back her veil revealing her tear stained face "My husband is dead"

"Dead?" He wondered if it would be tacky to make overtures toward her.

"Yes. Murdered"

"By who?" 

"Your brother, the Prince Rajendra" This was a plot twist Gadevi hadn't been prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it clear how much I hate Gadevi? Because I do. A lot. 
> 
> This whole next story arc was originally going to be very different but I decided it was stupid, this all might still be stupid but I feel a little happier with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya reader's (reader? anyone?), this fanfic is a result of my wanting to put people who really should not be given responsibility in positions of responsibility; hence Gieve now has Arslan to look after.


End file.
